


Moogle Match

by theorchardofbones



Series: Moogle Match [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, M/M, Trans Character, Trans!Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Prompto Argentum doubts anybody has ever found true love through online dating, but when he meets the gorgeous Gladiolus Amicitia — shield to the future king, utterlyripped, and full of surprises — he's more than willing to give the whole thing a shot.It isn't long before romance blossoms between the unlikely pair, and Prompto finds himself opening up in ways he never thought possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU features a few divergences. The first, and biggest of all, is that Lucis and Niflheim aren't at war, diplomatic relations having been recently resolved. The second, and the one that figures most prominently in the premise of this story, is that Prompto and Noctis never wound up becoming friends — they were still classmates, sure, but Prompto remained the awkward kid who never plucked up the courage to approach the heir to the throne.
> 
> Please heed the 'trans character' tag. It's a bit of a personal headcanon and while it won't impact too heavily on the premise of this (at least not yet), I do ask that readers respect any trans* or questioning folks who might read this story and the comments.

The red and cream background of the Moogle Match website glares through the darkness of Prompto’s bedroom, burning into his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at his screen — at the last three words in the chat window, at the cursor blinking impatiently as it waits for his response.

> _you wanna meet?_  
>

There are empty energy drink cans lying on the desk, on the floor around him. To buy himself some time, he picks up and shakes a few of them, one by one, until he finds one with half still left in it. The logo is a bright yellow chocobo on a green field; he tips it back and gulps the contents down.

The message is still there, as innocuous as ever. He eyes SwordMaster77’s display picture as though it might spring to life at any moment and tell him to quit being such a baby.

This is what he signed up for, isn’t it? The whole point of a dating site is just that: dating. It had to go beyond friendly messages eventually.

So why does he feel so nervous?

His fingers drum absently at the keyboard without actually hitting the keys; he mouses over to another tab and checks his emails. When he eventually works up the guts to tab back to Moogle Match, the message hasn’t miraculously disappeared.

_C’mon, man._

Two weeks earlier, when SwordMaster77 had first reached out to him, he had been so surprised by a comment on his profile that he had immediately drummed out a response before he had the chance to delete it. He’d never known it would turn into so many late-night chats and morning greetings.

He’s had girlfriends — sort of. There had been Amata, back in eighth grade, who had kissed him only to show up in school the next day with her arm slung through that of another boy. Then there’d been Lucia in tenth, who had been so shy that they had done nothing but hold hands all the time until she decided that she didn’t much like ‘the whole boyfriend thing’.

He’s had girlfriends, in a sense, but boyfriends?

That he’s even thinking about some stranger on the web, some guy he met through a _dating site_ of all things, as his _boyfriend_... Well, it’s pretty sad.

Had he known they would eventually meet when he had replied to that first comment two weeks earlier? He’d been flattered, and he’d been excited, but beyond the thrill of talking to some hot guy with tattoos and an obsession with swords — some hot guy who loves the outdoors and has beautiful amber eyes and is actually interested in _him_ — he hadn’t expected anything to come of it.

Yet here he is now, the cursor still blinking away in time to the ticking of the clock in the kitchen elsewhere in the house. 

His finger plays over the keys, over the slightly raised edge of the letters printed onto them, and just when he thinks he has a reply planned out, there’s a tiny, cheerful _ding!_ as another message comes through.

> _sorry, that was inappropriate. i get it if you’re not comfortable. we can just keep talking if you want._  
>

That’s better for everybody, right? So why is there a knot in his stomach?

Prompto heaves a long, laboured sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s late — _really_ late — and maybe his judgement is impaired, but he doesn’t have the sense to stop himself as his fingers drop to the keys and fire off a response.

> no way, dude. not inappropes at all. when? where?

The notification at the bottom of the chat window tells him his partner is typing for a while, then nothing. He starts to worry that maybe the guy has changed his mind when a message pops through.

> _awesome! i know a place. i’ll send you the info._  
>

A moment later an attachment comes through, showing a virtual map with a marker on a bar downtown. He tries to remember some archaic rule he heard about internet dating — don’t meet them alone, tell somebody where you’re going — and he can’t recall if it’s a bad idea to meet someplace that serves alcohol or not. He’ll get a chance to put his new ID to good use at least, now that he’s legal.

Still…

> _friday work for you? 8ish?_  
>

He chews his bottom lip and looks at the screen, his eyes glazing over until the words blur into the background. There are a couple selfies up on his Moogle Match profile, but he can’t help feeling like reality won’t match up to expectation. SwordMaster77 is pretty ripped, after all — if the neck-down photo that got 482 likes is anything to go by.

He taps out a response, which he promptly deletes. The second one stays on the screen awhile before he chickens out again and deletes it too. Finally he settles on something that he hopes sounds casual.

> sounds good. i better hit the hay, so i guess talk then?

He slips out of his chair and heads for the bathroom, careful not to make too much noise as he goes. He brushes his teeth, swigs some water out of the faucet and gives himself one last look over in the mirror before turning off the fluorescent overhead.

There’s one last message when he gets back, sitting innocently on the screen.

> _i can’t wait._  
>

* * *

Prompto stands outside the bar and looks at the sign over the entrance. It’s silhouetted in blue light, the words _Blade’s Edge_ cast in big steel lettering.

The sheet glass window at the front opens onto a handful of tables inside, with leather armchairs perched around them. Already one of the tables is occupied, with a small group of students chatting animatedly over their textbooks.

He tries to peer inside without seeming too awkward. It’s a little before eight but he can’t see who he’s looking for; there’s a partition just beyond the tables, made of frosted glass.

The place seems fancy and he’s not even inside yet.

With a little sigh, he plucks at the neckline of his tank. Maybe he should’ve dressed up more; maybe he should have researched the venue a little before agreeing to go along. He doesn’t even know how much the drinks would cost in a place like this.

Whatever his reservations, there’s no turning back now. He’s here.

The bar is pleasantly cool when he steps inside, probably controlled by some state of the art thermostat that costs more to run than his entire college tuition. There’s music playing, but it’s not the loud, pounding stuff that he’s accustomed to in the bars that his classmates used to drag him out to, fake ID burning a hole in his hand. A member of the staff passes him by, her sleek brown ponytail hanging down her back and partly obscuring the bar’s logo on the back of the neat black shirt she wears.

He knows right away that he doesn’t fit in, and it’s almost enough to set him swiveling on the heels of his boots and marching back out the door. He might have gone, too, if it weren’t for the raucous laugh ringing out from the other side of the partition, deep and masculine. 

He peeps nervously around and finds himself looking into the bar area. It’s mostly quiet there — just a couple groups of friends and a woman sipping from a glass of wine while she taps away on the keys of a laptop.

He pinpoints the source of the laughter soon enough: the bartender and one of the patrons are engaged in a conversation, and before Prompto can take another step a second laugh rings out from the latter. The guy is tall — ridiculously so — and when he laughs, he throws his head back like he’s heard the funniest thing in existence. He wears a black shirt with a skull motif on the back, sleeves rolled up to his elbows where tribal tattoos creep out from under the material and sprawl down his forearms.

_It’s him._

Of all the chances Prompto has had to turn back, this feels like The One. He glances back over his shoulder and eyes the exit, weighing up his chances of leaving without being noticed, but then he hears his name.

‘Hey! Prompto!’

The sound of it, in that voice, hits something in the pit of his belly that makes him feel pleasantly warm. When he turns to look back toward the bar, Gladiolus is striding towards him. The closer he walks, the taller he gets; he cuts an intimidating figure, but when Prompto looks up to meet his eye he’s wearing a welcoming smile.

‘You made it,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I was worried I woulda scared you off asking to meet so soon.’

Prompto blinks mutely up at the man in front of him, at a loss for what to say. In the moments that spool out in silence he can see Gladiolus’s smile start to lose some of its luster, but then Prompto finds his voice and manages a smile of his own.

‘No, no way,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you suggested it.’

Gladiolus leads the way to his spot at the bar. There’s already an empty glass where he had been sitting; he orders himself another while Prompto scans sheepishly across the menu set out in front of him. He’s used to asking for a beer and taking whatever he’s given — here there are more varieties than he ever even knew existed.

Gladiolus seems to sense that he’s out of his depth; with a patient chuckle, he taps his finger down on one of the names on the menu.

‘Nothing else worth drinking in this place if you’re looking for a beer, trust me.’

The beer is chilled, served in a glass. Prompto cringes at the thought of how much he’ll have to pay, but when he reaches for his wallet he finds Gladiolus has already taken care of it. He can feel heat prickling at his cheeks and down his neck; Gladiolus doesn’t seem to notice.

‘Y’know,’ Gladiolus says. He takes a sip from the amber liquid in his glass. ‘I realized maybe twenty minutes before I left my place that I never asked what you do. You go to school around here?’

Prompto nods. His first taste of the beer is surprisingly pleasant — light enough that it doesn’t sit in his stomach and make him feel sick.

‘College.’

Gladiolus raises an eyebrow over his drink. He gestures with it for Prompto to continue.

‘Yeah?’ he says. ‘What’re you studying?’

‘Photography and, uh… musical anthropology.’

He sees Gladiolus’s eyes widen a little before he turns and sets his drink aside. Prompto can’t tell if he’s impressed, or lost. It’s not an uncommon reaction — his parents had certainly asked if there weren’t something more useful he could study.

‘That sounds…’ Gladiolus says, trailing off meekly.

‘It’s about the cultural and social side of music,’ Prompto explains. ‘I kinda took it as a joke, but it’s pretty interesting. There’s this module about manuscripts they found in the ruins of Solheim that they’re _still_ trying to decipher, ‘cause their notation system was so different from… I’m boring you, aren’t I?’

Gladiolus shakes his head. He still has that lost look.

‘That stuff’s kinda outta my league,’ he says, running a hand through his undercut. ‘You said photography too?’

It’s harder for Prompto to contain his enthusiasm this time; he almost brought his camera with him, but he hadn’t wanted to seem too nerdy. Even now he thinks of it sitting on the top shelf of his closet, wrapped up in an old blanket so that anybody who might potentially break in won’t think to look there for it.

‘I’ve been taking pictures since I was a kid,’ he says. ‘I figured I wouldn’t learn anything new but there’s lots of things — like, the technical aspects. Rule of thirds and stuff.’

Gladiolus nods his head thoughtfully and even though Prompto can tell he doesn’t know the first thing about the subject, he’s flattered that he’s worth the effort of pretending. Gladiolus seems genuinely interested; he leans forward, perching one tattooed elbow on the edge of the bar.

‘You ever submit your photos for anything?’ he asks. ‘Like a magazine?’

‘Not yet. Got a portfolio ready to go for when I graduate, though.’

Prompto doesn’t mention that it’s mostly selfies and shots of people around Crown City. He has a feeling it isn’t the sort of stuff Gladiolus would like.

‘You should show me sometime,’ Gladiolus says.

He’s probably being polite, but still Prompto finds himself slipping his hand into his pocket to grab his phone. He has a folder full of shots he’s taken on-the-go, which he opens before setting the phone down on the bar for the other man to look through.

The phone seems ridiculously small in Gladiolus’s grasp, his tanned fingers dwarfing the compact model. It’s a hand-me-down — cracks run from one corner to another, and it’s starting to lose pixels at the edges. Gladiolus doesn’t comment on it as he swipes through the photos, taking his time looking at each one.

Prompto watches him linger on one in particular — with a blush, he realizes it’s a selfie he took a few weeks earlier, when it had finally been warm enough to shed the winter layers and sport a tank. He’d thought it was cute at a time: fingers up in the peace sign, big cheesy grin. Now, he feels childish as Gladiolus looks it over.

The selfie is gone with a swipe of Gladiolus’s finger; it’s mostly shots of the architecture around the city after that, and a couple of his friends at college.

‘These are great,’ Gladiolus says, handing the phone back. ‘I mean, I’m not an expert or anything.’

Self-consciousness drives Prompto to pick up his beer and take a long gulp from it, looking over the area behind the bar as he does so. The bartender is down at the far end, taking orders from two girls who recently arrived, but his attention is on Gladiolus. When Prompto meets his eye he swiftly looks away.

‘So how’d you find this place?’ Prompto asks. ‘It’s nice.’

Gladiolus shrugs; Prompto watches him run his thumb over the bar’s logo etched into the glass.

‘Used to work with the guy who owns it, back before he bought it,’ he says. ‘At the, uh. Security firm.’

Prompto eyes the bartender again; he seems to be making a particularly conscious effort to not look over at them again. He’s been wiping the same spot on the bar since he filled the last patrons’ orders.

‘Did you work with him, too?’

Gladiolus looks up at Prompto, then follows his line of sight. The bartender seems to sense two sets of eyes on him and ducks away to the bottles at the rear of the bar area to busy himself.

‘Pelna?’ Gladiolus says. ‘Still do, when he’s not moonlighting here and breaking hearts.’

Prompto steals a glance at Pelna over the lip of his bottle. Thick, dark hair artfully tousled; his complexion a light bronze. He’s not built quite as sturdy as Gladiolus, but Prompto can see the tone of his arms under his shirt where the fit is ever so slightly too tight.

A realisation begins to sink in, hitting uncomfortably close to home. 

‘Is that why he keeps staring at you?’ he asks.

Gladiolus is mid-sip when Prompto’s words reach his ears; there’s a little choking sound from him as his drink goes down the wrong way and he has to take a moment after he sets his glass down to thump his chest and set himself right.

‘No, ah,’ he begins, his voice a little strained. ‘That’s probably because we have a history.’

Prompto doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react; doesn’t know if the twinge in his chest is normal. He can feel heat rushing to his cheeks and he knows it has nothing to do with the temperature of the bar — still pleasantly cool — or the few measly swigs of beer he’s had.

‘Oh.’

He’s happy to let the subject drop when Gladiolus says no more, but soon the guy is rounding on him, his amber eyes staring him down.

‘Wait a second,’ he says. ‘You’re a little jealous, aren’t you?’

If Prompto had any hope of letting the colour die down from his face, it’s up in smoke now. He tries to sink into the back of his bar stool but it’s too low, and he just can’t seem to shrink down small enough.

But then Gladiolus’s hand is on his shoulder, heavy and warm and reassuring, and Prompto can’t help but look him right in the eye.

‘You got nothin’ to worry about,’ Gladiolus says. His glance flits down to his own hand, back to Prompto’s face. With a little jolt he pulls his hand away and returns it to his glass. ‘We were never serious. Wanted different things. We’re just… real good friends now.’

Prompto lets out a little breath and thinks maybe, _maybe_ , he’s a little relieved to hear Gladiolus’s answer.

Still — when he allows himself one last look over in Pelna’s direction, he can’t help wondering why he was so worried to begin with.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompto still has a smile on his face when he gets home.

They spoke for hours — late enough that Pelna had needed to prod them into leaving because the place was closing up for the night. Prompto had been buzzed halfway into his second beer; when he had switched to water, Gladiolus had too, but the conversation hadn’t dried up.

Prompto knows he’s too wired to sleep even as he silently lets himself in the front door and moves on autopilot to the refrigerator. He finds leftovers from his earlier dinner, grabs the can of Sylkis Boost chilling in the door, and brings it all back to his room.

There’s a notification in the tray on his computer; he feels a jolt of excitement when he sees it, but it’s just a bulk email from his course tutor listing an amendment to the photography assignment.

He spears a cold piece of meat onto his fork and chews on it thoughtfully as he mouses over the tab ever-open on Moogle Match. They parted ways barely thirty minutes earlier — for all he knows, Gladiolus might not even be home yet — but a part of him had hoped there might be a message waiting for him.

He groans through his mouthful of food, shaking his head at himself.

Gladiolus has probably already forgotten about him. All that time they spent talking, he was obviously just being nice.

Morose, he checks through his usual pages and finds out on the King’s Knight site that there’s a new update for the game. At least _that’s_ something to be happy about.

Prompto’s loading the update on his phone when the notification sound rings out from his computer. He expects it to be another email about coursework, but as he’s mousing over to the popup he hears two more _ding!_ s. When he clicks it, it brings him to Moogle Match.

> _was gonna wait till tomorrow to message you but i suck at waiting_  
> _i had a great time tonight. i hope you aren’t sick of me rambling about swords and camping and stuff. i don’t know when to stop sometimes_  
> _you’re probably not even awake right now. shit. sorry. i’ll talk to you tomorrow or whenever._  
>

Prompto almost knocks over his energy drink in his haste to reply; he barely pauses to set the tipping can upright before he swiftly sends a reply.

> shut up! i could listen to you talk about that all day.

His knee all but vibrates as he bounces it in anticipation of Gladiolus’s response. Maybe caffeine was a bad idea.

> _you’re gonna regret saying that._

They chat for hours, until Gladiolus goes quiet for a while and Prompto realizes he’s probably fallen asleep.

He never bothered to shut the shades; the first strands of pink and gold have already begun to light up the street outside his window. With a lurch, he remembers that he’s supposed to be at work in the afternoon. Maybe he can grab a couple hours of shuteye in the meantime.

> i guess you fell asleep. lightweight! lemme know if you wanna meet up again soon. ttyl!

When he pulls on his pyjamas he wants nothing better than to crawl into bed and pass out for a while, but there’s one last thing he has to do before he can call it a day.

He stretches his limbs as he steps out of his room, rolling out his shoulders and neck. He flicks on the fluorescent in the bathroom and does his best to ignore the shadows under his eyes in the mirror as he opens the cabinet over the sink.

There’s a plastic case on the top shelf, meticulously labelled. When he opens it up he finds the little vial, a syringe, and a fresh needle, peeling open the packaging on the latter.

He used to hate this — hated the needles, hated the tiny pinprick of blood, hated having to remember to take the shot each and every week, whether he felt like it or not. He’s better at it now, but he still forgets sometimes; the little hand-drawn calendar taped to the inside of the cabinet door has more than a handful of weeks with blank squares.

He fills up the syringe, rolls his pants a little down his leg and looks away. So maybe he’s _better_ , but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

When he’s done, he grabs the marker from inside the cabinet and checks off the week on the calendar. Instead of the usual tick, he draws a little smiley face this time.

* * *

They meet again in the middle of the week; it’s Prompto’s early day for college and he only works at the weekends, and Gladiolus manages to take the time off from his security gig.

Prompto had hoped he was past the apprehension of meeting up with Gladiolus, but somehow seeing each other during the day makes the whole thing scarily real. That, and he’s a little worried he won’t be good company without a little beer in his system to keep him talking.

Prompto watches the sun glint off the countless windows of the Citadel as he walks the streets from his home to their meeting place. There had been a time when the glow of the Crystal at the Citadel’s heart could be seen for miles around — when it had powered the Wall, day and night, never faltering. Since the treaty with Niflheim and the uneasy peace that has followed since, the Wall is raised only at night to defend against the daemons still prowling in the darkness.

He passes locals and tourists, the former going about their business while the latter stop to take photographs of every little thing of note. Insomnia is still a novelty to those who grew up outside the Wall’s protection; it seems like every day, more and more bodies pour in through the gates to witness the Crown City’s splendour for themselves.

They’re meeting at a café not far from the Citadel, overlooking a park. The weather is particularly fine today; even from the street, Prompto can see people lounging in the grass by the water, making the most of the sun.

There’s a car parked outside the café, facing the wrong way — a shiny Audi, with royal plates. He slows his pace and looks the car over. It’s as much likely to be some lowly government official as it is to be someone close to the throne, but the windows are blacked out and that only makes him more curious.

He spots Gladiolus leaning into the driver’s side window, chatting animatedly with whoever’s inside. When he straightens up and takes a step back, he pats his hand gently on the roof of the car and waves it away with a smile.

He’s still wearing that same smile when he notices Prompto, although it seems to falter just slightly. Prompto chalks it up to nerves.

‘You wanna eat out here?’ Gladiolus asks, gesturing to the tables set out in front of the café.

Only one of them is occupied thus far; it probably won’t be long before the rush sees all the tables filled. Prompto gives a little nod, and together they pick out one with a shaft of sunlight running across it.

‘I dunno about you,’ Gladiolus says, opening a menu, ‘but I’m starving. Make sure I don’t order one of everything.’

Prompto silently runs over the items on the menu and sees, with relief, that the place isn’t as expensive as he had expected. He doesn’t get the chance to eat out much — what’s left of his wages after buying things for school tends mostly to go on camera equipment or music. Gladiolus saved him a fortune by buying his drinks at the weekend, but even this outing is an unnecessary expense.

Gladiolus turns out not to have been exaggerating his hunger; he orders three different plates of skewers and a rib sandwich. Prompto orders a bowl of chili, all but drooling over the description in the menu.

‘I come here all the time,’ Gladiolus says, once he has handed the menus back to the waitress. ‘It’s so close to, uh, where I work.’

‘You sure they were okay about you taking the afternoon off?’ Prompto asks. ‘I don’t want you to get in trouble on account of me.’

Gladiolus shakes his head.

‘It’s fine. Trust me.’

The waitress brings their drinks first: she sets a soda down in front of Gladiolus, the ice clinking merrily against the glass. Prompto eyes the milkshake on the tray and barely waits for her to place it in front of him before popping a straw into it and having his first taste. It’s chocolate, but it’s creamier and richer than any chocolate milkshake he’s ever had — swirls of syrup run through the liquid, and he thinks he tastes a little mint in there too.

Gladiolus is smiling as he watches Prompto drain a third of the glass.

‘Good, huh?’

Prompto relinquishes his hold on the straw long enough to give a pleased grin. Gladiolus’s eyes are on his mouth; self-consciously, he lifts a hand and feels a bead of milkshake on his top lip, wiping it swiftly away.

‘You said you had an assignment due soon?’ Gladiolus says. He has his soda in his hand, but he hasn’t taken a taste from it yet. ‘Photography, right?’

Prompto nods.

‘It’s kinda open,’ he says. ‘There’s a few headings we can choose from but it’s up to us how we interpret it.’

‘What’re you doing for yours?’

Prompto feels his mouth contort in a grimace. Normally he would have had it all completed and submitted by now, but inspiration has yet to strike. With the way things are going, this may be the first assignment he fails to turn in.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, shrugging. He pauses to take a sip of his drink and swishes it around his mouth before swallowing. ‘I picked “community” but I haven’t got anything yet.’

It isn’t long before their food arrives. Gladiolus’s dishes take up much of the table and he surveys the scene somewhat sheepishly, scrubbing at the back of his neck.

‘Like I said, I’m starving.’

Prompto gives up on trying to be neat while eating his chili when he sees the mess Gladiolus makes of himself. His fingers are covered in a medley of marinade, and everything he touches winds up stained red with the stuff. He doesn’t seem to care, and Prompto finds he doesn’t mind — if anything, it’s a little endearing.

Even with the surplus of food, Gladiolus still clears his plates first and spends the time waiting for Prompto to finish by licking sauce from his fingertips.

‘I got an idea,’ he says, his thumb barely out of his mouth. ‘’Bout your assignment.’

Prompto lifts his eyes and looks at Gladiolus over the spoonful of food on its way to his mouth.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Gladiolus says, nodding. ‘There’s lots of places outside the city you could check out. Maybe that’ll get you inspired.’

Prompto doesn’t feel much like eating any more. He doesn’t know how well-travelled Gladiolus is, but he’s never left Insomnia — not since…

He lowers his spoon and spills the contents back into the bowl.

‘I don’t drive,’ he mumbles.

There’s a bang and the sound of rattling dishes and cutlery as Gladiolus’s knee collides with the underside of the table. He’s suddenly upright, his hands braced on the edge of his chair as he looks straight at Prompto.

‘I do. I could take you sometime.’

Prompto looks at Gladiolus warily, expecting him to retract the offer at any moment. He’s like a big, excitable dog eagerly waiting for a response.

Would it be crazy? Letting some guy he’s only known for a couple weeks — somebody he just met in person for the first time a few days ago — drive him out of the city?

He scrapes at the bottom of the bowl absently until the noise gets too grating and he realizes he’s the one doing it. He lets the spoon drop with a clattering sound.

‘That might not be a terrible idea,’ he says, leaning back in his chair.

Gladiolus grins.

‘Seriously? It’s a _great_ idea.’

* * *

They stroll through the park afterwards. Prompto’s glad for the shade from the trees overhead — he’s paler than Gladiolus, who seems to take the scorching sun in stride.

They wind up near the water and sit at the edge. Prompto lies back in the grass, staring up at the blanket of unspoiled azure overhead; after a moment, Gladiolus flops onto his back too. They’re close enough that their shoulders touch.

‘I come by here all the time,’ Gladiolus says, ‘but I’ve never been through the park. I’unno why I never thought of it before.’

Prompto thinks of all the times as a child when he had nobody to play with; sometimes he would wander around the streets and back alleys, but if he lucked out in his exploration he might find a park to while away the hours playing make-believe in the grass. He would’ve loved it here — the thatches of trees to hide in, the ducks splashing happily in the water.

Gladiolus moves a little, and his arm brushes Prompto’s. For a fleeting, dizzy moment, Prompto wonders what it would be like if Gladiolus took his hand. He shifts, moving his hands to rest on his stomach and fidgeting with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

He wonders if this is it — the moment where he’s supposed to say the thing. The thing that might send Gladiolus running for the hills.

Every time he tries to open his mouth to formulate the words, he feels his tongue go dry. There’s a little knot in his belly that only seems to grow larger and more insidious the longer he thinks about it, and it all starts to simmer up within him until he feels like he’s going to explode.

‘I gotta tell you something,’ he says.

‘There’s something I gotta say,’ Gladiolus blurts.

He turns his head to look at Gladiolus and finds his gaze already turned on him. The lump in Prompto’s stomach only seems to worsen.

Painstakingly, Gladiolus pushes himself up and dusts grass off of his hands. Prompto lets the seconds tick by before he sits upright at Gladiolus’s side. There’s a beat or two of silence before Gladiolus gestures for him to continue.

‘No,’ Prompto says with a shake of his head. ‘It can wait. You go ahead.’

Gladiolus heaves a reluctant sigh. He’s quiet for so long it feels like maybe he changed his mind; eventually he scrubs his hands down his face and props his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to watch the birds preening at the water’s edge.

‘I wasn’t totally honest with you,’ he says. ‘I don’t… work in security. Least, not technically.’

For Prompto, who had been holding his breath in anticipation of something far worse — he lets it all go in an audible little burst — it’s something of a relief. He’s curious, though, and he can’t help wondering what would be such a big deal that Gladiolus wouldn’t be straight with him about it.

‘You can tell me,’ he replies.

Gladiolus seems to have become very interested in a little nick on his knuckle, thumbing over it. For the first time, Prompto notices that his hands are covered in bruises and scabbed-over cuts.

‘I work for the crown,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’m with the Crownsguard.’

Prompto knows the name — who wouldn’t? Much like the Kingsglaive, their outfit has been repurposed and reshaped many a time over the years, in the age of war and in the aftermath; originally part of the Lucian army, their role has become more of a personal guard to the crown. If Gladiolus is a member of the Crownsguard, it means he’s been tasked with protecting the royal family.

Suddenly all of Prompto’s nerding out over photography and comic books the first night they met seems painfully childish.

‘You protect the king?’ he asks flatly. ‘Like… _the_ king?’

‘Well, no.’

Gladiolus slips his hand beneath the long hair at his neck, scratching at his nape. 

‘I’m charged with guarding the crown prince. My father protects the king.’

_Oh._

‘I didn’t tell you because people can be a little intimidated by it,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Sometimes it feels like people don’t see _me_ , they see the king’s shield. I wanted to make sure we had something before I told you.’

Prompto thinks of the plastic case in the bathroom cabinet back home; thinks of the mark on his wrist. So many secrets, and so few people to confide in.

‘Are you pissed?’ Gladiolus asks. Apprehension is an odd look for him — it doesn’t suit him.

Prompto shakes his head.

‘Course not, man,’ he says. ‘I totally get it. You wanted to make sure I got to know you, not your duty. Right?’

Gladiolus nods his head quickly and relief lights up his face so radiantly that Prompto feels his stomach flip-flop. He can’t even imagine being mad at Gladiolus for not telling him, but then he has his own big secret — _secrets_ — that he’s been keeping, too. Somehow, he doesn’t think it’s something that can be glossed over.

‘So,’ Gladiolus says, punching Prompto gently in the arm. ‘Now that I got that off my chest, what were you gonna say?’

Under the sun, with the grass rustling gently around them, Prompto imagines what it would be like to get it all off his chest. He imagines Gladiolus giving one of his bright, easy smiles and telling him it’s okay — that’s he’s glad Prompto told him the truth, that it doesn’t matter. That he still likes him for who he is.

A cloud crosses over the sun, turning the world grey.

‘Nah,’ he says. ‘It’s nothing. Can’t even remember.’

Gladiolus doesn’t look convinced, but he seems content to let it go. He turns to face the water once more and Prompto studies the set of his shoulders, the lines and curves of his tattoo. The ink is fading a little, just at the edges.

A thought strikes him — something squirrelled away at the back of his mind. What was it Gladiolus said?

‘Hang on,’ he says.

He crawls forward, stopping to kneel in front of Gladiolus. He narrows his eyes, leaning in inquisitively. 

‘You think we have something?’

Blushing is a fact of life for Prompto. From the days when kids at school would tease him for his weight, to getting made fun of for having a crush on somebody in his class, it seemed like he spent most of his childhood burying his face in his hand to hide the red bloom of his cheeks. His mom told him it was because of his colouring, so much paler than all the other kids in his class.

He hadn’t thought it possible for anybody with Gladiolus’s complexion to blush, but as he looks into the man’s face he finds himself proved very much wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Tequila?’

She’s pretty, in a brash kind of way — and she’s talking to Prompto. He looks from her to the bottle on the bar, and sees that she’s already poured a shot for him.

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘You’re not gonna say no to the birthday girl, are you?’

He picks up the glass somewhat doubtfully, inspecting it with a sniff. He’s never had tequila before, and the sharp, musky smell doesn’t make him want to start. She’s looking at him so expectantly, though; her brown eyes are wide and hopeful. It _is_ her birthday…

‘Crowe.’

Pelna sidles up to them on the other side of the bar, wearing an expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

‘Will you stop trying to corrupt the kid?’ he says, shaking his head. He glances at the bottle and picks it up, inspecting the contents. Half of the liquid is gone. ‘I don’t remember you paying for that.’

Crowe shrugs.

‘It’s my birthday.’

Pelna rolls his eyes heavenward and gives a world-weary groan. When he turns his glance back to Crowe, he leans close and points at her, his fingers a gun.

‘Try telling that to Libertus,’ he says, picking the bottle up and setting it down behind the bar.

He gives another disapproving shake of his head and heads down the bar, where he takes orders from some of the other Glaives. While his attention is elsewhere, Crowe hops up on the bar and leans over it, reclaiming the bottle for herself.

‘What Libertus doesn’t know can’t hurt him,’ she says. With an exaggerated wink, she tucks the bottle under her arm and marches across the bar to a group of her friends.

When Gladiolus had invited Prompto out to celebrate a friend’s birthday, he had expected a handful of people, not the entire Kingsglaive. The place is positively teeming — Prompto hadn’t realised just how numerous the force was before tonight. 

The shot glass is still on the bar beside him, with a wedge of lime and a salt shaker at the ready. He may never have done it himself, but he’s seen it before; thinks he knows the rudiments of it enough to give it a try.

He’s got the salt shaker in his hand when a voice sounds out at his ear, low and gruff.

‘I wouldn’t, if I were you.’

Gladiolus perches himself on the stool beside him. He’s a little out of breath, like he rushed to get here.

‘Sorry I took so long,’ he says. He looks uncharacteristically meek. ‘Minor emergency turned into a not-so-minor emergency.’

‘Everything okay?’ Prompto asks.

Gladiolus shrugs.

‘Nothing we couldn’t handle.’

Prompto’s curious. Gladio’s message warning him he was running late had been vague, giving barely a hint as to what was wrong. He gets the feeling it’s royal business — and none of his.

He turns the salt shaker around on its base a few times before pushing it aside. If Gladiolus thinks tequila’s a bad idea, maybe he’s right.

‘The Glaives been treating you okay?’ Gladiolus asks. ‘They can get a little… rowdy sometimes.’

Even as he speaks, the soldiers playing billiards elsewhere in the bar get progressively louder. There’s some disagreement, some accusation of cheating; Crowe has to step in and push the two parties apart. The tequila bottle is still in her hand.

‘Nah,’ Prompto says. ‘They’re cool. Crowe seems nice.’

Gladiolus lifts an eyebrow. He looks over at the billiards table, and the narrowly-avoided scuffle. Crowe notices them watching and waves a hand cheerfully.

‘The woman of the hour?’ Gladiolus replies. ‘Yeah, she’s somethin’ all right. You order a drink already?’

Prompto shakes his head timidly. The last time they were here, Gladiolus had been ordering for him. He can’t help but shoot a glance over at Pelna where one of the Glaives shows him something on her phone. As ashamed as he is to admit it, he’s been too shy to talk to Pelna, knowing his history with Gladiolus.

‘Hey, Pel!’

The bartender looks up and glances around for the source of his name for a moment before zeroing in on Gladiolus. He puts a hand up to excuse himself from his present company and heads down the bar.

‘You made it,’ Pelna says. ‘Was starting to think you left blondie here to fend for himself with the worst of ‘em.’

‘Pelna’s with the Kingsglaive too,’ Gladiolus says, before Prompto has the chance to rankle at the nickname. ‘He’ll try to convince you the other Glaives are trouble, but he’s the one you gotta watch out for.’

‘You gonna order?’ Pelna says. ‘Or are you just here to waste my time?’

The exchange comes so naturally that it’s hard for Prompto not to feel left out as he watches them sharing easy smiles and teasing words. When Gladiolus had said they had history together, he had inferred the meaning well enough — it’s only now that he can really see it for himself.

He feels small and out of his depth. Inadequate.

‘Beer?’

Gladiolus’s eyes are back on him. He reaches out and gently touches Prompto’s elbow. The contact is like a lightning strike.

‘On me,’ he adds.

Prompto thinks he might have mumbled out a ‘Sure’; he stares blankly at Gladiolus’s profile as he turns to Pelna and places their order.

‘So,’ Gladiolus says, once Pelna has placed their drinks in front of them. He turns to Prompto, leaning on the bar. ‘You thought about my offer? The road trip?’

Oh. _That._

‘I don’t know…’

There’s a little flash of disappointment in Gladiolus’s eyes and the sight of it makes Prompto’s chest pang. He watches Gladio scratch a hand idly through his hair — if he has a tell, it’s probably that — and turn his attention to his drink.

‘That’s cool,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I figured it’d be weird.’

Prompto should be relieved that he doesn’t have to make excuses, that he doesn’t have to let Gladio down gently. Instead, as they resort to sipping their drinks in silence, he can’t help the clawing feeling that tells him he’ll regret turning the offer down.

The two of them, out on the road, no distractions — and he’s letting the opportunity slip away just like that, because he’s afraid to take a chance.

‘Wait,’ he blurts.

He trails off as Gladiolus looks up at him; glances away and stares down at his hands in his lap, at the bones of his knuckles, at the nails chewed down to stubs. If he could just spit the words out for once in his life, it’d be great.

‘Screw it,’ he says. ‘Let’s do it.’

Gladiolus gives him a crooked smile and the sight of it makes it all worthwhile. He’s making the right call.

‘Awesome,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Can you get away from work? Maybe next weekend?’

Prompto barely has to think about it — he’s sure he can get somebody to cover for him, even if he has to beg.

‘Totally,’ he says. ‘I can’t wait!’

* * *

Gladiolus’s eyes are like liquid amber. Prompto can’t help feeling like he’s falling into them whenever Gladiolus speaks.

That might be the beer talking.

‘You want another?’

Gladiolus doesn’t even wobble as he grabs his glass and stands up. Prompto always forgets how tall he is — and he’s _tall_. It’s like staring up at a tree.

That also might be the beer talking.

Prompto picks up his drink and drains the last of the dregs before proudly handing the bottle over. He’s probably lucky it takes him three times as long to finish his drink as it does Gladiolus; drinking at the same rate, he’d be face down on the restroom floor by now.

‘Sit tight,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Anybody tries to rope you into a drinking game, _say no_.’

They’ve been at a table a little away from the crowd for the past hour or so, ever since a slew of latecomers arrived in the door and set up shop at the bar, making it impossible to have a conversation without shouting over the noise. Prompto had thought the Glaives were numerous enough _before_ the other half of them arrived.

He reaches his arms up over his head, knitting his fingers together and stretching out. He gives a sigh of contentment and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and soaking in the sounds of the music and chattering around him.

When he opens his eyes again, he jolts. The seat across the table from him, recently vacated by Gladiolus, is now occupied.

Crowe sits there with one leg crossed over the other and a drink in her hand. She reminds Prompto of a cat who has crept into its owner’s seat, blithely pretending to have been there all along.

‘You two seem to be getting along like a house on fire,’ she says.

Prompto smiles.

‘Your party’s great,’ he says.

Crowe rolls her eyes and gives a dramatic sigh. Her glance falls on a group of Glaives crowded around one of their comrades, cheering him on as he chugs a tankard of beer. She points at them with her thumb and flicks her eyes back to Prompto.

‘Those guys?’ she says. ‘They joined up a month ago. I doubt they even know my name. It’s Crowe, by the way.’

‘Prompto,’ he says.

‘Oh, I know.’

Prompto looks over to the people in question — sees the guy finish off his drink and set the glass down triumphantly on the countertop. Pelna crosses his field of view, on this side of the bar and in his own clothes now after shift change; he marches up to where Gladiolus waits in the crush of patrons to order, and Prompto can only watch as Pelna touches a hand to Gladiolus’s hip and leans in to say something in his ear. Gladiolus turns and gives a nod, his face impassive, and then Pelna moves along.

‘You’re worried about the two of them together,’ Crowe says.

Her voice drags Prompto’s attention back to her, if a little sluggishly. He expects her to have a look of pity on her face — expects her to tell him that he has every right to be worried — but when their eyes meet, she sits up and sets her drink on the table, looking at him frankly.

‘Glad’ll kill me if he hears I told you this,’ she says, ‘but he’s crazy about you.’

It feels a little like Prompto’s seat is tilting, or maybe the room, and the air seems a little too thick to breathe. It takes him a moment to realise that the tight feeling in his chest isn’t pain — it’s something _good_.

‘He… He said that?’

Crowe laughs.

‘He doesn’t exactly talk about his feelings,’ she says. ‘But he never shuts up about you. It’s kind of nauseating.’

She sounds dismissive, as though the whole thing is beneath her, but in the dim lighting of the bar Prompto thinks he can almost make up a secret little smile on her lips.

She looks up and Prompto follows her glance; Gladiolus is on his way back from the bar. She stands and steps close to Prompto, leaning in so that only he can hear her.

‘Don’t overthink it,’ Crowe says. ‘Just go with your gut and it’ll all fall into place.’

She turns to Gladiolus once he arrives and claps a hand on his arm.

‘If Nyx shows,’ she says, ‘tell him he owes me a shot.’

She pauses only to grab her drink from the table before slinking away, never faltering in her six-inch heels.


	4. Chapter 4

The bar stays open later than usual, by popular demand. By the end of the night it’s just the Kingsglaive, Gladio and Prompto, and any friends the Glaives brought along.

Prompto doesn’t think he’s ever been so tired — or so sad for the night to end.

The sky is already turning to grey by the time they stumble out of the Blade’s Edge and the owner, Libertus, locks it up behind them. Glaives blunder away in groups, eager to find somewhere to continue the night’s festivities even now that the dawn is fast approaching.

‘Bunch of us are headed back to Crowe’s,’ one of them says. Prompto thinks Gladiolus said his name was Nyx. ‘You coming?’

‘I’m beat,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Maybe next time.’

The Glaive shoots him a pointed look; even with the buzz of alcohol still in Prompto’s system, he can’t miss the way his lip curls.

‘Next time. Sure.’

Prompto and Gladiolus wander away from the bar, away from the still-boisterous Glaives straggling by the bar’s entrance.

Gladio rubs at his eyes; slips his phone from his pocket and briefly illuminates the screen, lighting up his face with a blue glow.

‘Geez,’ he mutters. ‘It’s after three.’

Prompto whistles. He remembers flagging sometime around midnight, but then Crowe had all but poured some cocktail of energy drink and vodka down his throat and he’d gotten a second wind. He’s starting to feel it now, though — the sugar and caffeine dying down in his system, the alcohol putting him to sleep. Under the warm glow of the city’s streetlamps, he can barely keep his eyes open.

‘Let’s get you a cab,’ Gladiolus says.

He moves to lift his hand to flag a car down, but Prompto gently grips his arm. Pulls at it, shaking his head.

‘Walk me home?’

It’s easy to forget how beautiful Insomnia is at night. Prompto rarely gets a chance to be out like this — nocturnal as he is, he mostly spends it in front of his computer back home. Tonight, with the last trickles of alcohol in his veins, he thinks the city has an otherworldly quality to it. Cars pass by, their lights leaving trails in the air; the buildings seem to tower overhead, gargantuan figures with windows for teeth.

‘Wish I had my camera,’ Prompto murmurs. 

‘You usually take it with you?’ Gladiolus asks. His voice is hushed, as though he’s under the same spell. In the dimness, his tattoo is a swirl of shadows under the collar of his leather jacket.

Prompto nods.

‘Everywhere.’

He’s so busy looking at the scenery, at the way the dying moonlight hits the pale facades of the buildings around them, that he doesn’t notice the silence right away. But then it’s there — heavy and impossible to ignore. He looks up at Gladiolus and finds him looking right back.

‘Why don’t you ever bring it with you when we hang out?’

Prompto shrugs, lets his shoulders drop heavily.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Guess I didn’t want you to think I’m a dork.’

‘What, ‘cause you’re excited about something?’

Gladiolus stops, and Prompto feels a tug at his hand; he’s suddenly entirely too aware of how clammy his palms are as Gladiolus twines their fingers together.

For a second they’re just there on the sidewalk, cars passing by as they look at one another. Then Gladiolus’s hand slips free, and Prompto lets his own drop to his side.

‘Prom,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I love that you get dorky about stuff sometimes. _I_ get dorky about stuff sometimes. You never make me feel like I should be embarrassed about it.’

Prompto lets his head hang. The light grey of the sidewalk underfoot has little tiny splashes of dark on it, which are soon followed by more; a second later he feels something wet hit the back of his neck. Rain. Great.

‘Do I make you feel like that?’

He looks up; Gladiolus’s face is drawn. If he’s noticed the rain, he doesn’t seem to care.

‘Like what?’ Prompto says.

Gladiolus sighs.

‘Like you should be embarrassed.’

Prompto doesn’t know what’s worse: the look of dismay on Gladiolus’s face, or the feeling that he put it there. He can’t help but think of Pelna, of the way they talked to each other so comfortably. Of the way Pelna put a hand on Gladio’s hip and he didn’t flinch away, as though it had belonged there.

‘No,’ he says.

He can feel his voice wavering, so he swallows and takes a slow, steady breath.

‘Can we…’ He trails off; looks up at the sky and feels a drop splash his cheek. ‘Can we keep walking? It’s starting to rain.’

Gladiolus grunts thoughtfully and lifts his palm skyward, feeling for the telltale splashes of water. He gives a nod and turns, and they continue on their way.

The heavens burst open when they’re passing the Nite Mart a few blocks over from his home. They duck into the entrance, turning their backs to the glaring lights within.

‘You sure about that cab?’ Gladiolus asks. ‘We can probably get you one here.’

Prompto steps out from under the shelter and feels a torrent of water splatter on his head, pushing his hair down into his eyes.

‘Wait it out?’ he suggests, once he ducks back in beside Gladiolus. ‘It’s gotta stop sometime.’

They head inside the mart and wander the aisles, attracting the eye of the clerk who glances them over once before returning his attention to the magazine he’s reading behind the counter.

In the chilled section they have the new limited edition version of Sylkis Boost, a row of glittering golden cans just begging for him to buy them. He presses his nose against the glass, looking at them longingly, and Gladiolus comes to stop behind him with a little laugh.

‘You’re gonna rot your insides with that stuff,’ he says.

Prompto pulls away from the fridge. The glass is fogged up, leaving an imprint where his nose was against it.

‘Not true,’ he says, rounding on Gladiolus. ‘Sylkis greens have been scientifically proven to give a boost to energy, dexterity and mental acuity.’

Gladiolus smirks.

‘In chocobos, maybe.’

Prompto expects him to launch into some tirade about the negative impact of the energy drinks he favours — he’s heard it often enough — but instead, Gladiolus reaches past him, slides the glass door open and takes one of the golden cans out.

He spends a while studying the label, turning the can around in his hand.

‘What’s so special about this one?’ he says. ‘Limited edition? “Maximum boost”?’

‘It’s some hybrid strain of sylkis greens,’ Prompto says. ‘All I know is everybody online says it tastes amazing.’

Gladiolus shakes his head and gives a beleaguered sigh. He marches down the aisle toward the clerk, stopping along the way to pick up a Cup Noodle. Prompto trails along after him, watching as Gladiolus slaps a handful of currency down on the counter in front of the clerk and pays for it all.

There’s a machine by the clerk, with free hot water for the little packets of teas and coffee the mart sells. Gladiolus tears open the lid of the noodles and fills it with water, stirring it with a disposable spoon and grabbing another.

‘C’mon,’ he says. ‘I’m starving.’

They sit on their haunches in the sparse shelter of the awning above the mart’s doorway, sharing Gladio’s Cup Noodle and Prompto’s Sylkis Boost. He can tell Gladiolus isn’t entirely taken with the first mouthful of the drink, but he doesn’t complain about it at least.

‘We’re gonna be awake for hours now,’ Prompto says, wiggling the can in front of Gladiolus.

‘I know,’ Gladiolus says. ‘You looked so excited to try it, I couldn’t help myself.’

He looks a little pleased with himself, and Prompto can’t help but shyly smile and look away. For once he doesn’t think he’s blushing — that’s something, at least.

‘So, Cup Noodle, huh?’ Prompto says. ‘You should watch out for all that sodium. Rots your insides.’

Gladiolus snorts and digs an elbow gently into Prompto’s side. When he stills again, his arm is pressed against Prompto’s and the warmth of him, a little damp from the rain, makes Prompto huddle closer.

‘This is nice,’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto thumbs at the tab of the drink awhile, and the plucking sound of his nail against the metal cuts through the ensuing silence where he can’t find the words to do it himself. Gladio’s right — it is nice. Yet he still can’t help but think of Pelna.

‘You don’t wish you went with the Glaives instead?’

Gladiolus shakes his head. 

‘Not even a little.’

They finish off the Cup Noodle between them; Gladiolus polishes off the sauce out of the bottom of it with a noisy slurp. When he's done, he cradles the empty cup between his hands and taps it idly against his knee. 

‘So, the trip,’ he says. ‘You think you can cut class Friday afternoon?’

Even if he couldn't, Prompto would still say yes. He'll have to wiggle out of his tutorial group for photography, but he supposes he can use his assignment as an excuse. It's not every day he gets a shot at travelling out of town with a camera. 

‘I can make it work,’ he replies, pausing to take a sip out of the can. ‘What’ve you got planned?’

Gladiolus is quiet for a little while. When Prompto twists his head to look at him, he’s smiling.

‘Gotta wait and see,’ Gladiolus says.

The clamorous downpour dies down to a steady trickle; when it’s little more than a haze of vapour in the air, they clamber to their feet, dispose of their trash and continue on their way.

It’s chilly out, and the damp patches on Prompto’s clothes leave him shivering. Gladiolus stills his pace beside him and there’s a shuffling sound; his elbow bumps Prompto’s arm briefly, then Prompto feels something heavy and warm enshroud his shoulders. 

Gladio’s jacket is several sizes too big, and the weight of it is almost oppressive — but it smells earthy and sweet, like the scent of whatever soap he uses, and Prompto finds himself instinctively wrapping himself up in it, hugging it close.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs.

‘No problem.’

Prompto dawdles along the way. Maybe it’s unconscious; maybe it isn’t. Either way, Gladiolus doesn’t seem to mind the slower pace.

They pass the preschool Prompto went to when he was little and he points it out. There are hands cut out of paper all across the windows, painted in bright, cheerful colours; each one has a sticker beneath it with the name of the artist. 

‘I used to think about walking past here someday and seeing something my kid made up in the window,’ Prompto says, as they come to a halt.

He looks into the glass; in the moonlight and the glow of the streetlamps, he can just about see the shapes of the children’s desks in the room beyond.

‘You want kids?’ Gladiolus asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Prompto says. ‘I guess I don’t really think about it any more.’

He clears his throat and throws his thumb in the direction that will eventually take him home.

‘Let’s get going before the rain picks up again.’

The Argentums live in a crowded but quiet part of town; quaint little houses line the streets, crammed in this way and that with a narrow road running in between. There’s a light on in a window upstairs in one of his neighbours’ houses, but other than that the neighbourhood is dark.

‘This is my stop,’ he says.

Reluctantly, Prompto moves to slip the borrowed jacket from his shoulders, but Gladiolus’s hand catches his before he can. They stand there, in the feeble rain, and Prompto finds his eyes drawn up to Gladio’s. He knows that look — has seen it on TV and in movies often enough to know what it means. It makes his heart leap into his throat, makes his skin go clammy.

He worries that he’s imagining things, that he has it all wrong, but then Gladiolus is stepping close, close enough that Prompto can smell the rain on his skin.

Prompto’s breath catches in his throat. It’s like they’re the last two people in the world; the only sound interrupting the stillness around them is the water dripping steadily from the eaves of his house.

Gladio’s hand lets go of his; moves instead to cup his face, and Prompto feels the rough surface of his thumb brush gently, so gently, against his cheekbone. Prompto watches the apple bob on Gladiolus’s throat as he swallows, watches him shift as if to move closer.

Gladiolus steps away, letting his hand drop.

‘You should probably go,’ he says.

Prompto feels his shoulders sag, the tiny little glimmer of hope — of expectation, of _need_ — extinguished in the blink of an eye. If he were more brave he might grip at the front of Gladiolus’s tank and pull him close, might stretch up on tiptoe to press their mouths together.

He doesn’t.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs. ‘I guess I should.’

He shrugs the jacket from his shoulders, missing the weight and the warmth and the smell of it as soon as he presses the bundle of leather into Gladio’s hands. He thinks maybe there’s a look in Gladiolus’s eyes, just for a second, but then Gladiolus clears his throat and takes a step back.

‘See you Friday?’ Prompto says. He barely trusts his voice not to crack; he silently thanks the Six when it comes out sounding normal.

Gladiolus nods.

‘Friday.’

Prompto watches Gladiolus stride off in the direction of the rising sun, his broad figure in silhouette. He still has his jacket tucked under his arm and Prompto wishes, fleetingly, that he had asked to keep it.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s a red pickup truck in the street by Prompto’s house when he gets back from campus.

In an otherwise drably-coloured street, it’s conspicuous; he sees the curtains of his closest neighbour’s house twitch like they always do when there’s something noteworthy happening outside.

He rounds the corner, passing close by the truck as he goes. The paintwork is chipped in places, the body littered with tiny scratches and dings. Whoever it belongs to, it’s seen a lot in its time on the road.

Gladiolus is at his door; the sight of him makes Prompto stall in his tracks. He lays a hand on the hood of the truck, the metal warm to the touch, and inclines his head toward the vehicle.

‘This your baby?’

Gladiolus pushes off from the wall where he had been leaning, stepping forward.

‘My pride and joy,’ he says. ‘Everybody keeps telling me to upgrade but I can’t bring myself to let her go.’

Gladiolus stops a couple feet away, by the hood. Prompto’s thoughts flash back to being this close — closer — a week earlier and he wonders what would happen if he took the plunge and bridged the last few steps between them. He can still remember the smell of Gladiolus’s jacket, the feel of his hand on his cheek.

He’s ninety percent sure he’s blushing right now, but he hopes Gladiolus hasn’t noticed.

‘So, uh,’ he stammers, gesturing toward the front door. ‘You wanna come in while I grab my stuff?’

Gladiolus nods; folds his arms across his chest.

‘Sure.’

* * *

Prompto rushes around his bedroom before he’ll let Gladio in. It’s not that there’s anything embarrassing in there — more that it’s messy. He’s not quite ready to show Gladiolus that side to him just yet.

He scurries out into the hallway and down to the kitchen with a stack of dishes in his hand, three empty Sylkis Boost cans balanced on top.

Gladiolus is waiting in the hall. When Prompto emerges, a little out of breath, he raises an eyebrow.

‘All good?’ he asks.

Prompto nods.

‘All good. Let’s go.’

He’s never been particularly ashamed of the compact size of his room, but somehow seeing Gladiolus wedged into it — perched cautiously at the edge of his bed, as if afraid he might break it — makes it seem all the smaller. He can’t help thinking of the car whose window he saw Gladiolus talking into, royal plates and Lucian insignia impossible to miss. As the crown prince’s personal guard, he probably sees more riches in a standard day than Prompto ever will in all his life.

‘So this is where the magic happens,’ Gladiolus says, gesturing to the computer.

Prompto’s rig, at least, is nothing to be sniffed at. He’s built it up over the years, swapping out pieces as they became obsolete, and along with his camera it’s one of the most precious things he owns.

‘Now you know what I see when I’m on messenger with you,’ Prompto says. He pauses by the wardrobe, leaning his hip against the door of it with a half-filled duffel in his hand. ‘Can’t say I can picture you behind a computer when we’re talking at night.’

He thinks Gladiolus looks embarrassed as he scrubs a hand through his hair, leaning back a little on the bed. He rests his weight on his other arm and Prompto has the distinct realisation that this is _Gladio_ on _his_ bed.

‘I don’t have a computer,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Kinda… never needed one.’

Prompto shrugs: there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s still hard for him to imagine a home without a computer, though; it was one of the first things he saved up for when he finally had an allowance.

He turns back to the closet and stuffs in some last-minute things. The weather’s set to be sunny all weekend, but he can’t help the little worm of doubt in his belly that he’ll be miles from home in a thunderstorm without a raincoat. He pauses with his hand on a jacket, then thinks of the one Gladiolus had let him borrow the last time they met up.

He’s in the middle of a daydream about borrowing it again when Gladiolus noisily clears his throat and Prompto looks back to him, guiltily.

Gladio is smiling, somewhat wryly.

‘Daylight’s wasting,’ he says.

Prompto grabs the jacket and tucks it under his arm as he pushes the closet door shut. He sets it down with the duffel by the door before glancing out the hallway toward the bathroom. There’s one last thing he needs to do — something he’s been putting off all week.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he says meekly, stepping out of the room.

There’s a blank square on the little calendar inside the bathroom cabinet, a glaring reminder that he forgot _again_ last week.

His parents had warned him about this — if he couldn’t remember to keep a cactus watered, how could he be trusted to remember this? He had fought and he had argued, going out of his way to make sure that all his chores were done on time, that all of his homework was finished first thing after getting back from school. In the end they had relented, had seen that he was serious about his commitment.

Here he is now, racking up empty weeks on a hand-drawn calendar. 

He sighs; grabs the case and unclips the lid, taking everything out. He still wonders sometimes if it’s worth it: worth doing this every week for the rest of his life.

_Don’t think like that. Of course it’s worth it._

He unzips his pants and edges them a little down his legs. He’s got the needle pressed to his skin when the door creaks open — _stupid, stupid, why didn’t you shut it_ — and Gladiolus’s voice drifts in from the hallway.

‘Uh, Prompto?’ he says. ‘There’s a cat in your room.’

Prompto fumbles with the syringe, almost dropping it. He shoves everything — syringe, bottle and all — back into the case and sets it back into the cabinet, hastily pulling his pants back up. He doesn’t know what Gladiolus saw or if he even saw _anything_ , but he leans back against the wall to the right of the door and waits a moment, bracing himself. He can still hear Gladiolus outside: the creak of him moving slightly on the floorboards.

‘Little tortoiseshell?’ Prompto says. ‘Big orange spot on her nose?’

‘Yeah.’

Prompto blows a breath out between his teeth. He thinks Gladiolus doesn’t sound any different, thinks maybe he’s worrying over nothing. Still, it takes a little while before his heart stops thundering in his chest.

‘That’s my neighbour’s cat,’ he says. ‘She… does this. I gotta leave my window open at night or she starts scratching at it and yelling to come in.’

He hears another creak outside; hears Gladiolus’s weight fall gently against the wall as he leans on it. Neither of them say anything for a little while, then Prompto hears a soft purring just outside the door.

‘She’s sweet,’ Gladiolus says. ‘She got a name?’

Prompto pokes his head around the doorframe; the cat is in Gladiolus’s arms, nuzzling up under his chin. He looks like he doesn’t have much of a say in the matter.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Teapot.’

Gladiolus snorts and the cat startles, mewling at him in complaint. It takes a few pats of her head before she’ll settle down again, curling up against his chest once more.

‘Looks like you’ve got a new friend,’ Prompto says.

He waits until Gladiolus has returned to the bedroom, Teapot in tow, before grabbing the case again and tucking it under his arm.

Gladiolus is preoccupied with gently setting Teapot down on the windowsill; Prompto stuffs the case into the top of his duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder, then grabs his jacket. He watches Gladiolus gently usher the cat outside, where she sprawls out on the ledge as if there isn’t a drop beneath her. When he shuts the window, Teapot halfheartedly presses the pad of her paw to the surface of the glass before stretching out and promptly dozing off.

‘You ready?’ Gladio asks, turning around.

Prompto glances around; he feels his heart lurch when he realises he almost forgot his camera, squirrelled away in the top of the closet. He opens it again, stretches on tiptoe to grab the bundle down and slings the strap around his neck.

‘All set.’

The duffel goes into the back of the pickup truck, where there’s already a backpack and a stash of camping equipment — a tent, bed rolls, a portable stove. Gladiolus doesn’t do things by halves, clearly.

The city seems bigger in the process of driving out of it: the roads stretch on, looping in and around on a one way system at times, merging into vast overpasses at others. Before long, the wall looms in sight and Prompto feels apprehension and excitement grip at his chest all at once.

He’s leaving Insomnia. He’s really doing it.

‘You hungry?’ Gladiolus asks.

‘Sure.’

Prompto looks at Gladio’s hands on the wheel, at his tanned, toned arms. He’s wearing a tank today, showing off the stark black ink on his skin. Prompto hopes he’ll get some sun on this trip, and with any luck he’ll tan this time instead of breaking out into freckles.

‘There’s a gas station along the way,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Awesome diner there, too.’

‘Sounds great,’ Prompto murmurs.

He fidgets in his seat, adjusting his position. It already feels like they’ve been driving for so long, negotiating their way through the streets of the city. Maybe it’s the wall, towering over them, smothering them in its shadow. He can’t wait to set foot out in the open.

There’s a jam at the city limits, which Gladiolus informs him is usual.

‘More and more people commute nowadays,’ Gladiolus says. ‘It’ll clear up when we hit the open road.’

They while away the wait by plotting out the fine details of their trip; Prompto stretches the map out across his lap and Gladio shows him the landmarks he hopes to hit, along with the havens where they’ll stay.

Prompto pores over the map, taking in all that the world outside of Insomnia has to over. They won’t be able to hit all of the major attractions in Lucis in one weekend, but he sets his sights on the Rock of Ravatogh over far to the west, calling to mind the pictures he’s seen in glossy travel journals. If this trip goes well, maybe he’ll suggest they take another.

‘Come on,’ Gladiolus mutters, drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel. 

It’s another twenty minutes before they reach the gateway. They have to show their ID cards on the way out, but once the guard in the booth waves them forward they’re finally free.

It’s Prompto’s first taste of the world beyond the wall — at least since he was old enough to remember — and he’s a little disappointed to find it’s a dilapidated checkpoint, concrete and rusted metal.

The flood of cars dies off to a trickle as the commuters pick up speed, taking off down the road to their eventual destination. Now that they truck takes on a pace faster than a crawl, Gladiolus winds down his window and Prompto does the same.

He feels the wind whip through his hair, across the nape of his neck. At his side, Gladiolus watches him with a smile.


	6. Chapter 6

The air smells hot: dust and sunbaked dirt.

The gas station is at the first intersection outside the city, miles out. Prompto had been expecting some poky, tiny thing but it’s big and bustling with activity, from the mechanic’s garage at one end to the diner at the other.

Gladiolus pulls in and gives a wave in the direction of the garage as he climbs out of his seat. Prompto sees a blonde woman in a mechanic’s getup wave back before scurrying over to a man waiting beside a car.

‘That’s Cindy,’ Gladio says. ‘She fixed my baby up when I got her.’

He pats the hood of his car affectionately and Prompto can’t help but smile.

They eat at the diner, Takka’s Pit Stop. Gladiolus seems to know the owner and they spend a little while talking while he rustles up their food — chatter about beasts on the wilds, something about hunts. 

‘There are hunters out this side of the wall,’ Gladiolus explains, as he carries their tray of food over to their booth. ‘They track down bounties on beasts and daemons who’ve been causing mayhem for the locals.’

Prompto slips into his seat as Gladiolus takes the one opposite. Once the tray is down on the table, Prompto leans forward and grabs a fry from his bowl of chili.

‘You ever go on hunts?’ he asks.

Gladiolus tips his head.

‘Sometimes,’ he replies. ‘Cor — he’s the marshal of the Crownsguard — used to bring me out when I was younger. Said I’d never improve as the king’s shield if I didn’t know what I was up against.’

Prompto tries to picture a younger Gladiolus, fending off monsters. The oldest picture of him up on his _Moogle Match_ profile is from three years ago at his twentieth birthday party, when he had first been legally allowed to drink. In it, his eyes are crinkled, his mouth a broad grin. It had made Prompto’s heart pang a little when he saw it; had made him want to get to know Gladiolus all the more.

‘Does… Prince Noctis hunt?’

At this, Gladiolus gives a laugh so deep and unrestrained that it attracts the attention of Takka and a few of the patrons sitting around the diner.

‘Noct?’ he says. ‘No way. I try to drag him out, sure, but that doesn’t go so well.’

Gladio doesn’t talk so much about work, but when he does Prompto likes to piece together a snapshot of the crown prince. They went to school together but never crossed paths — never had reason to. It’s like he’s a different person entirely from the young man standing silently at the king’s side during public address.

They stock up on snacks and bottles of water before they head out; as an afterthought, Gladiolus grabs a little metal first aid kit off the shelf and brings it to the cashier.

There’s a souvenir rack by the counter with key rings depicting various little mascots and icons. The only figure Prompto recognises is a hammerhead shark; it matches one that dangles from Gladiolus’s set of keys.

They’re heading for the coast tomorrow; this evening, they stick around the arid wastes to the east of the region, Gladiolus periodically pulling over to let Prompto snap off shots of the scenery. By the time Gladiolus suggests they head for the haven, the camera’s memory card is already a quarter full and Prompto doesn’t have anything that meets the brief for his photography assignment.

Gladiolus pulls the pickup into the bounds of the haven. For the first time, as Prompto steps out onto the ground he sees the little blue runes that reinforce the protective energy that surrounds the place.

They set up the tent together, although Prompto feels like more of a hindrance than a help. He’s never done this before — can’t figure out which poles go through which loops, no matter how patiently Gladio explains it to him. By the end of it, however, they somehow have a fully functional shelter for the night.

‘I hope you’re not a vegetarian,’ Gladiolus says, heaving the cooler out of the truck. When he pops it open, one side is full of bottles and cans, while the other has cuts of meat shrinkwrapped in plastic.

‘Nope,’ Prompto replies, but he’s more interested in the beverages beside the food; he eyes up the cans, thinking he spies the golden packaging of the new Sylkis Boost.

Gladiolus snorts. Reaches his hand in and grabs one, handing it over.

‘Least I know your priorities.’

Prompto sips on the energy drink while Gladio sets up a portable grill and starts heating it up. He hovers at Gladio’s elbow, watching each step curiously. He’s never been camping, never eaten from a barbecue. With Gladiolus it seems like second nature, each flick of the hand easily executed.

‘You know what we need?’ Gladiolus says, turning to him. ‘Music. There’s some stuff in the glove box, you mind throwing it on?’

Prompto riffles through it and finds it in disarray, full of maps and brochures, but underneath it all he uncovers a stack of cassette tapes. It feels like a blast from a past he’s never known — technology so outdated that even his parents would raise an eyebrow.

‘Queen?’ he shouts, out the door. ‘What the hell is a Queen?’

The answer doesn’t come back right away; there’s a sizzling sound, and the scrape of metal against metal.

‘Seriously?’

There’s the scuff of boots on dirt as Gladiolus makes his way over, ducking his head into the car. He gives Prompto a sceptical look.

‘You never heard of Queen?’

Prompto shrugs.

With an exasperated sigh, Gladiolus leans across him and reaches into the glove box. This close, he smells of sweat and smoke from the grill — nice smells, homely smells. Prompto sits perfectly still as Gladiolus fishes around in the collection of tapes and pulls one out, dangling it in Prompto’s face.

‘You know AC/DC though, right?’

Prompto’s afraid to shake his head.

Gladiolus shucks the tape from its case and pushes it into the player. The music that comes from the speakers is a little familiar, like something from a lifetime ago, but Prompto can’t quite place it.

Gladiolus still leans over him, fiddling with the dials. Once he’s happy with the volume he withdraws and stands at the side of the truck, arm resting on the roof as he looks in at Prompto.

‘After we eat,’ he says, poking him gently in the chest, ‘ _you_ are getting an education in the classics.’

It sounds more intimidating than it turns out to be; once they’ve devoured their fill, Gladiolus drags him by the hand to the bed of the truck, lays out an oversized tartan blanket and nudges Prompto to make himself comfortable. While Prompto settles in with his back to the truck’s cabin, he hears Gladiolus rooting around through the tapes and inserting a new one.

The song starts out with an acoustic guitar playing out a melancholy tune, accompanied soon by a recorder. Whatever this song is, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of Prompto’s neck.

Gladiolus climbs into the back and sits alongside Prompto. He has two open beers in hand, passing one over.

‘You know this one, right? _Stairway_?’

Prompto gives him a meek little smile before taking a sip of beer.

‘ _Seriously_ ,’ Gladiolus says, screwing his eyes up in frustration. ‘How are you taking musical anthropology and you’ve never heard _Stairway to Heaven_ before?’

Prompto pulls his knees up to his chest, hiding his face against them. He hears Gladiolus chuckle softly beside him and nudge his shoulder.

‘Nobody forgets the first time they heard _Stairway_ ,’ Gladio says. ‘I feel honoured I got to be here for yours.’

Gladiolus seems happy to sit in silence while the song plays out, so Prompto follows suit. After a little while he realises that Gladio is listening with his eyes closed, tapping along to it with his fingertips against the neck of his bottle.

* * *

Night falls, as it always must. Prompto feels it in the cool breeze that ruffles his hair, and the song of the nocturnal creatures that come to life with the rising of the moon.

They’ve been listening to Gladiolus’s mixtapes for a while now, sometimes with commentary and sometimes without. Gladiolus is on his third beer but Prompto has been taking it slowly, savouring it. He wants to be sober, the better to remember the evening by.

‘Hey, Prom,’ Gladiolus says, after returning from changing over to the next tape on his list. He sits this time with his back against the side of the truck’s cargo area, his feet wedged beneath Prompto’s legs. ‘Been meaning to ask you something. Feel free to tell me to piss off if it’s outta line.’

Prompto tries to ignore the little lurch he feels in response to Gladio’s words. It doesn’t help that his expression has taken a turn toward the earnest. Prompto tries a carefree smile as he gestures for the other to continue.

‘Back at your place,’ Gladio says, ‘I kinda… walked in while you were in the middle of something. Are you… Are you okay?’

There’s that lurch again, back with a vengeance. It feels as though the medley of beer, hamburgers and hotdogs in Prompto’s belly are all churning up in a knot. He hopes he doesn’t hurl; he _really_ hopes he doesn’t hurl.

He swallows, succeeding only in making his throat drier. A swig of beer helps a little and gives him a moment to find his words.

‘I’m not sick or anything,’ he replies, ‘if… if that’s what you mean. To be totally honest? I kinda wanted to talk to you about that.’

He sets the beer down, careful to leave it steady on the truck bed. His duffel is still in the back with them, nestled in the corner, so he opens it up and pulls the case out from where he hastily shoved it on top. He can feel Gladiolus’s eyes on him as he pops the clasp and opens it out.

Somehow, it feels easier to show rather than tell; Prompto fishes out the little bottle and hands it over to Gladiolus, label facing out.

Prompto watches, waiting — waiting for the wide eyes, the anger. The disappointment. Instead, he sees concentration on Gladio’s face as he scans over the prescription with his full name and that of the medication printed beneath.

‘Testosterone?’ Gladiolus says.

For just a moment they’re looking at one another, eye to eye, and Prompto imagines all the warring emotions he can see in Gladiolus’s glance. He looks away first, down at his hands. There’s a ragged edge on one of his nails, so he lifts it to his mouth and worries at it with his teeth.

He looks up at Gladiolus surreptitiously, through his bangs, where he sits studying the label again. Gladio closes his hand briefly around the bottle in his palm before leaning forward to pass it back.

‘I wasn’t always the dashing fella you see in front of you,’ Prompto says, setting the bottle back into its case. He tries to make light of it, a crooked grin lighting up his features, but Gladiolus isn’t smiling back. ‘I’ve gotta take this every week or else…’

_Or else what? The carriage turns back into the pumpkin?_

He feels like he’s making a mess of things, wonders if he should have written it all down first. The only other times he has ever spoken to somebody about this came about _before_ the injections, before he even bought his first compression vest.

He wishes he had said something sooner; mostly, he wishes he never had to say it at all.

‘Do you…’ he begins meekly. ‘Do you wanna ask me anything?’

Gladiolus picks up his beer and goes to take a sip; finding the bottle empty, he frowns and sets it aside.

‘So,’ he says, looking levelly at Prompto. ‘Just… so we’re clear. You’re trans?’

Prompto isn’t sure if it sounds better coming from Gladio’s lips than his own — but he’s pretty damn positive he’s relieved not to be the one to have to say it. He nods slightly, hesitantly, then again with more confidence.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘That’s right.’

Gladiolus stretches over to the cooler where it sits at the edge of the truck bed. From it he withdraws a beer for himself, and a can of Sylkis Boost.

‘It’s shitty,’ Prompto says, with a feeble little laugh. He opens the tab on the energy drink once Gladiolus hands it to him and takes a small sip. ‘I hate needles. _Hate them._ Now I’ve gotta use them for the rest of my life.’

Prompto hears a noise somewhere, out in the dark — a wild animal, probably, but his mind defaults to the worst possible scenario. Whatever it is it stays far away, deterred either by the light of the fire and the music from the truck’s stereo, or by the boundary of the haven.

Gladiolus pushes himself up onto his knees and crawls over, sitting down at Prompto’s side.

‘How do you do it?’ he asks.

Prompto sets his energy drink aside. Clearing his throat, he sits up and straightens his left leg out, the one closest to Gladiolus. He finds the spot on his thigh by memory, prodding it.

‘Right here,’ he says. ‘I can do it other places but this is easiest.’

He watches Gladiolus look down at his leg, at his finger pressed down on the spot. Watches Gladio stretch a hand out and lay it over his thigh.

‘Here?’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto swallows; nods slowly.

‘Does it hurt?’ Gladio asks.

‘A little. Mostly I’m squeamish.’

Prompto sees the first smile warm Gladio’s lips since this particular topic came up; he feels his lips quirking into a grin of their own accord in response. Gently, Gladiolus pokes him in the leg.

‘You never got around to taking it at your house, right? Quit procrastinating.’

* * *

His leg still throbs a little from the shot, as it always does, but he barely notices it as they lie looking up at the stars. They should be asleep already, should be resting up for the busy day ahead, but he’s scared to lose out on a single moment spent with Gladio.

He realises, distantly, that the music hasn’t been playing for a while now. He twists his head to look at Gladiolus to suggest he go put on another, only to find Gladio already watching him. It makes his stomach squirm, brings the sweat out with a prickle under his arms.

‘You having a good time?’ Gladio asks.

Prompto nods.

_Is that all?_

Gladiolus turns his face up towards the skies once more, and Prompto uses the chance to discreetly study his profile.

Up this close, it’s harder to miss the blemishes — the scar running down the left side of his face, the tired little lines about his eyes. Even so, can Prompto see the amber of Gladio’s eyes, the curve of his lips, the profile of his nose. He finds himself thinking — and he’s glad Gladiolus can’t see into his head at this particular moment — that he might just be in the company of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Gladiolus turns his head and looks at him, and Prompto begins to doubt the whole not-seeing-into-his-head thing.

He’s about to turn away, embarrassed, when Gladiolus rolls onto his side and reaches a hand up, cupping Prompto’s jaw.

For the second time in his life he thinks his heart might just beat so fast it explodes; for the second time, it’s all Gladio’s fault.

‘Been thinking about kissing you all night,’ Gladiolus says.

Overhead, the stars spin out into a dizzying eternity. There are little noises of animals and insects all around, the night’s chorus. They’re the only people for miles.

Prompto opens his mouth, tries to speak — his throat is too dry. He swallows, and tries again.

‘Why don’t you?’

His voice is tiny and meek, like a mouse in the face of a lion, yet Gladiolus seems to hear it well enough; he leans forward, eyes locking onto Prompto’s for a few thunderous heartbeats before fluttering closed.

Prompto hadn’t realised how long, how dark Gladio’s eyelashes were — he wonders for a fleeting moment why he’s even thinking about eyelashes right now, of all times.

Gently, Gladiolus’s lips meet his own.

He’s aware of Gladio’s hand slipping down to rest in the curve of his neck, fingers twisting through the hair at the nape. It’s a brief kiss, delicate and sweet, and over entirely too soon. Prompto’s eyes are still closed when Gladio pulls away, as if he can will him back for more.

He opens his eyes and finds Gladiolus watching him in a way that should probably make him feel self-conscious, but somehow it doesn’t. He turns onto his side, shifts a little closer. Gladio’s hand comes up, brushing a stray strand of blond hair out of his eyes.

‘Was it… worth the wait?’ Prompto asks, shyly.

Gladiolus smiles.

‘Definitely.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking since the start how to go about Prompto's reveal. Make it big and tense, like it is for so many trans* people? Make it lighthearted? In the end I went with this; I hope I did it justice.


	7. Chapter 7

The nights get cold out here, away from the creature comforts of home. Even bundled up in a sleeping bag, with a blanket draped over top, Prompto finds himself curling up to conserve heat.

Gladiolus seems to have no such problem; he’s been happily asleep ever since they turned in, breathing deeply.

Prompto sighs. He sits up, making a cocoon of his sleeping bag around himself. He’s just digging around on the floor for his phone when he hears Gladiolus’s breathing catch.

‘Everything okay?’ Gladiolus asks, his voice gravelly with sleep.

‘Freezing,’ Prompto says, through chattering teeth.

He hears Gladiolus rustling around for a little while, then hears the sound of a sleeping bag being zipped open.

‘C’mere.’

Prompto shuffles over, cocoon and all. He settles himself down at Gladiolus’s side, and Gladiolus tugs at the zip on his sleeping bag, opening it all the way. A moment later an arm slips around him, impossibly, deliciously warm, and pulls him close.

‘This better?’ Gladio murmurs.

His breath is hot against Prompto’s ear; reflexively, Prompto snuggles in and feels the arm tighten a little around him. There are a number of things this is, _better_ being just the beginning.

With Gladiolus’s body giving off so much heat, Prompto soon drifts off into an easy slumber. He startles himself awake only once when he realises he’s starting to drool — after that he turns onto his other side, facing away, and feels warmth against his back as Gladiolus moves closer to fill the gap between them.

* * *

When Prompto wakes the next morning, he doesn’t know where he is at first. The ground is uncomfortable beneath him, painful even, but he’s wrapped up in warmth and blankets and the scent of— 

_Oh._

They’re all tangled up: Gladiolus’s hand is splayed out over Prompto’s belly, and their legs are twined together. It’s by no means a bad way to wake up, but Prompto realises with a lurch that he needs to pee.

He moves Gladio’s arm first, carefully laying it aside, then slips free of his legs. He finds his clothes, pulls them on as quietly as he can, then moves out of the tent on tiptoe.

It’s after dawn — the haven’s symbols have faded somewhat in the morning light and Prompto is free to step outside the barrier around it. There are no conveniently-placed clumps of trees, no bushes here where the cracked red earth abounds. There is a cluster of rocks nearby, however. They’ll have to do.

He makes it quick, hurrying back to camp afterwards. There might be no daemons around now that the sun is rising, but that doesn’t mean that beasts can’t leap out and snatch him.

Gladiolus is just waking up when he returns to the tent, rubbing at his eyes and looking around in confusion. Prompto doesn’t know if he realises how close they were all night; he’s not about to be the one to bring it up.

‘You sleep okay?’ Gladio says.

Prompto nods.

‘You?’ he says.

‘Mm.’

While Prompto munches on protein bars and chases it down with sips from an energy drink, Gladiolus trains out on the haven. The tattoo ripples across his skin with each deft movement of his muscular arms, his shoulders. It’s the first time Prompto has had a chance to see it in full — it’s a lot bigger than he had realised, taking up all of Gladio’s back.

‘Did that hurt?’ he asks, pointing.

Gladiolus barely pauses from his exercises, flicking a glance down to his chest where Prompto points. He doesn’t answer for a little while, maintaining slow, steady breaths as he moves.

‘The tattoo? Hell yeah, it hurt. Took a bunch of sessions to finish. You thinking of getting one?’

Prompto shakes his head. He doesn’t even know what he would get — that, and he doesn’t exactly have a high pain threshold. When he went with a friend while she got her tongue pierced, he nearly threw up just from watching.

‘Just interested, is all,’ he says. ‘What made you wanna get it done?’

‘The eagle is a symbol of courage, strength, and integrity,’ Gladiolus says, pausing while he twists and contorts into a new pose. ‘In heraldry, it symbolises a protector.’

‘The prince’s shield,’ Prompto murmurs.

Gladio nods.

‘My family has served the crown for generations,’ he says. ‘From childhood, we’re raised to risk our lives for the royal family. I went through a rough patch a few years back. Didn’t know if I was cut out for it. I guess I figured if I could prove to myself that I was strong enough, it meant I was on the right path.’

Prompto lets Gladiolus’s words sink in. To look at him, it’s impossible to imagine him doubting anything about himself — his strength, least of all. It seems he’s full of surprises.

‘Did you?’ Prompto asks. ‘Prove you were strong enough?’

Gladiolus stops abruptly, one arm outstretched to the side of him and a leg poised mid-air. He sets his foot down heavily and laughs, scrubbing a hand over the shorn part of his hair.

‘All I proved was that grown men cry like babies, if they’re in enough pain.’

Prompto can’t tell if he’s joking — there’s something elusive about Gladio’s smile — but there’s something sweet about the image of such a big, strong guy blubbering over a tattoo.

Prompto finishes off his breakfast in silence while Gladio resumes his training. For a little while he sits with his eyes closed in comfortable silence, taking in the warmth of the sun. He opens his eyes when he hears Gladiolus’s voice.

‘You ever seen this?’

He extends his hand, then flicks it to the side; with a burst of light, a greatsword appears in his hand. Shimmering crystals float around it for an instant as it solidifies, as if hewn from the air itself.

Prompto flinches back from the sight of it, almost falling over in his surprise. 

‘Whoa! Is that… _magic_?’

Gladiolus gives a full-bellied laugh of pleasure. He moves over and reaches a hand out, pulling Prompto up to his feet once he takes hold of it.

‘Don’t be too impressed,’ he says. ‘It’s the Crystal’s power, on loan to the Crownsguard care of the royal family. Here.’

He offers the sword, hilt-first, and Prompto tentatively reaches out to take hold of it. It’s heavier than he expects — not some intangible magical trick of the light, but a real sword, made of steel. Prompto is strong from years of pushing himself, but even he struggles with the weight of the sword in his grasp. He grips it with both hands and just about manages to keep it upright.

‘It’s… heavy,’ he whispers, hushed by awe.

Gladiolus smirks.

‘It’s as real as you or me,’ he says. ‘You’re left-handed?’

When Prompto nods, Gladiolus rounds up behind him and takes hold of his arms, moving them into the correct position.

‘You’re lifting from the wrist,’ he says. ‘Bend your knees a little, let them carry the weight.’

His lips are right by Prompto’s ear; it’s so distracting that it’s hard to make any sense of the instructions. Still, Prompto tries — lets Gladio adjust his hold, shivering a little when those adept hands wind up at his waist and stay there longer than they have to.

‘If I didn’t know better,’ Prompto says, defying the tremble in his voice, ‘I’d say you were doing this just to get close to me.’

There’s a chuckle by his ear, warm and rich.

‘So what if I am?’

The grip on his waist is gone, but Gladiolus doesn’t go very far. He steps a few paces away to Prompto’s right side and gestures toward the greatsword before crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Give it a try,’ he says. ‘It takes a little getting used to, but you’re strong enough.’

It’s tough, even with Gladio’s pointers, to get used to wielding something so cumbersome. Prompto gives it his best shot, swinging the blade up and over in an arc, barely able to stop the momentum as the blade carries through toward the ground. He braces himself for the impact, but in an instant his hands are empty as a flurry of crystals evaporates into the air in front of him.

‘You got potential,’ Gladio says. He lays his hand, heavy but safe, down on Prompto’s shoulder. ‘Oughta try you with something more your size someday.’

Prompto feels giddy — from the compliment, from the magic, from the memory of the night before. From Gladio’s hands sitting perfectly at his waist moments earlier, from the feel of his hand on his shoulder now. He feels like he’s overloading on caffeine, and he likes it.

‘You gotta let me get a photo of you doing that,’ he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘The conjure-y thing.’

When Gladiolus laughs and gives his shoulder a squeeze, it feels like his heart has taken flight.

* * *

They head for the coast before the day can burden them with its heat. Prompto catches a glimpse of the ocean from a little way off, just peeping through a gap in the hills, and he feels that giddiness threaten to take over again.

Gladio has another one of his tapes in the player, drumming his fingers along to the music. From time to time he softly sings along and the words drift over Prompto, taking root in him more than the original vocals ever could.

‘You’ve never been to the beach, right?’ Gladiolus says, glancing up from the road for a moment to look at him. ‘This’ll be your first time?’

Prompto nods; stretches his arms out in front of him until his shoulders crack.

‘I went to an indoor beach one time,’ he says. ‘It was pretty terrible.’

‘Well,’ Gladiolus says, ‘I promise you the real thing’ll knock you off your feet.’

It’s a beautiful, clear day, and as Gladiolus pulls the truck up in the parking lot there’s more pure white sand and glittering ocean than Prompto’s eyes can take in. For a little while he just sits in his seat, taking in the view, until Gladio digs a gentle elbow into his side.

‘You just gonna stare all day?’

It’s warmer out here, more humid, but there’s a cool breeze in the air that smells tangy and full of salt. Prompto plucks at the collar of his vest as he steps out of the car, using it to fan at his skin.

On the other side of the truck, he sees Gladio strip out of his shirt and leave it on the driver’s seat. He sheds his pants next, wearing swim shorts underneath — black, with a skull motif down the side.

Prompto’s, by contrast, are probably the most garish a person could possibly find. Picked out from the kids section at the department store in central Insomnia, they’re bright blue with cactuar print. He feels a little self-conscious about them as he steps out of his jeans and slips free of his vest, but Gladiolus has already set his sights on the ocean.

‘Probably a little chilly this early in the summer,’ he says. ‘Brace yourself.’

They bring towels and the cooler, sharing the weight of it between them. Selecting a spot a little away from the quay itself, they lay everything out on the sand. Prompto’s camera is, as ever, slung around his neck; he quickly fires off a couple shots of Gladiolus striding down the shore toward the water, his dark hair fluttering in the breeze.

Gladiolus is waist-deep when he dips suddenly into the ocean, his head vanishing beneath the surface only to emerge a moment later streaming with water. He turns around, a big, goofy grin lighting up his features, only for it to dampen slightly when he sees Prompto lingering on the beach.

‘You coming in?’ he calls, his voice almost lost amongst the crashing of the surf.

Truth is, Prompto would love nothing better than to be there in the water with Gladiolus, but he can’t. He can feel the spandex of his binder digging into his ribs, a not-so-subtle reminder.

He cups his hand around his mouth, making a speaker out of it as he gives his answer.

‘I’m good here.’

He thinks he sees Gladiolus frown, but it’s hard to tell from this distance. At any rate, he soon marches back out of the water, making straight for Prompto, and takes his hand.

‘Where are you—’

Gladiolus cuts him off.

‘Just come with me.’

Gladio leads him by the hand, trudging through the sand back toward the truck. Water still wicks away from Gladiolus’s skin, his hair still dripping down his back and leaving trails on his tattoo. Prompto’s palm is wet from his touch, but he can barely focus on anything beyond the warmth of Gladio’s fingers gripping his own.

At the truck, Gladiolus lets go and hops into the back, digging through his things until he emerges with a black T-shirt in his grasp. Prompto just about manages to catch it when Gladio tosses it at his chest.

‘You can change out back of the store,’ Gladio says. ‘And leave your gods damn camera! You’re here for the beach, not the photo op.’

Gladio stands guard around the corner while he undresses. He can feel the ache of relief from his ribs as he squeezes out of his binder; there are marks on his skin, red and angry, and he’s glad to hide them under Gladio’s shirt as he slips it on over his head. Unsurprisingly, it’s huge — it’s also the softest thing he’s ever worn, and it smells faintly of some fragrant detergent.

He drops his things off at their spot on the beach, nestling his camera safely within the folds of his discarded clothes. When he’s done, he looks up to find Gladiolus watching him shrewdly.

‘What?’ he says, tugging at the hem of his shirt. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You don’t mind getting wet,’ Gladio says. ‘ _Right?_ ’

Prompto doesn’t trust his tone, but for some misguided reason he nods. His head has barely stopped moving when Gladiolus grabs him by the hand, tugging him irresistibly toward the water.

The ocean is so cold it burns Prompto’s bare legs, making him yelp in surprise — but still Gladio urges him along, never letting up. Before Prompto knows it he’s waist deep, the chill of the water cutting into his bones until suddenly, graciously, he can’t feel it any more.

‘Not so bad, is it?’ Gladio says, with a knowing smile.

‘Speak for your _self_!’ Prompto retorts.

He dips down, gathering up an armful of water and throwing it. He regrets it immediately; there’s a twinkle in Gladio’s eyes, some competitive streak that Prompto hadn’t counted on, and next thing he knows he’s being splashed in turn, water drenching his head before he has time to react.

They play fight until Prompto can barely take any more, his lungs straining for air between bouts of laughter, Gladiolus’s deep laugh echoing his own. Eventually the fighting dies down, the ocean’s surface returning to relative calm; Prompto uses handfuls of water to slick his hair back out of his face.

‘I win,’ Gladiolus says, grinning.

‘No _way_!’

Gladiolus nods, cocky. Prompto feels a hand find his hip under his shirt where it billows out around him in the current.

‘Admit it,’ Gladiolus says, pulling him close. ‘I totally win.’

They’re only a little apart; Gladio’s hand still fits over his hip, gripping lightly. Prompto stopped feeling the cold long before, but he’s filled with warmth now even as his skin prickles with goosebumps.

‘Fine,’ he murmurs. ‘You win.’

‘So what’s my prize?’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto knows he has a choice here: he could play it safe and laugh it off, promising Gladio a Cup Noodle later to reward his victory. Just as he knows Gladiolus would gracefully accept, however, he knows it’s not what he wants — not what either of them wants.

Prompto takes a step forward; he feels Gladio’s arms slip around his waist, hands meeting at the small of his back.

With Gladio almost a full foot taller, Prompto has to step up on the very tips of his toes to reach. The kiss is all saltwater and cold lips, but he thinks he likes it even better than the one the night before.


	8. Chapter 8

When they got back to shore, Gladiolus had wrapped a towel around Prompto’s shoulders with a kiss on the forehead. Prompto thinks he can still feel the imprint of it there, where strands of hair stick damply to his skin. 

He had wanted to stay on that beach all day; had wanted to lie in the sand with Gladiolus by his side. For a little while he had just daydreamed, imagining what it would be like to laze around under the sun, turning from time to time to press little kisses to each other’s lips.

Reluctantly, he had allowed Gladio to bundle him into the car once they were dressed. They still have places to see, photos to take — it’s easy to forget the whole point of this road trip is the photography assignment when it feels like Prompto’s heart is going to float straight out of his chest.

‘Should’ve brought sunblock,’ Gladio says, glancing at Prompto’s reddened neck, at the burn across the bridge of his nose.

Prompto shrugs.

‘I’ve had worse,’ he says. ‘Perils of being pale.’

Gladiolus hasn’t explained where they’re headed next. The landscape grows steadily greener all around, craggy hills replaced with sprawling forest. They’re going north; that much Prompto can tell.

His head feels heavy — it’s a struggle to keep it upright. He feels Gladio’s hand touch his gently, hears his voice soft and low.

‘Get some rest. Sun must’ve taken it outta you.’

Prompto doesn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

He wakes up as the truck draws to a halt.

His neck aches like crazy from the awkward position he fell asleep in, and there’s drool on his shoulder. Great. Still, he could be worse off — Gladio’s at his side, hand on his arm to gently jostle him awake.

‘Rise and shine,’ Gladiolus says. ‘We’re here.’

They’re parked off the edge of a dirt track. When Prompto looks out Gladio’s window, he spots a building of red brick and yellow awnings; his eyes track across the lot until he sees— 

‘Chocobos!’

He can barely get his safety belt off in his excitement, and Gladio laughs at his side all the while. He stumbles out of the car and marches straight toward the pens full of chocobos, all but bouncing as he goes. He hears Gladiolus a little way off, yelling for him to wait up.

For all he has seen chocobos on the web, for all he has guzzled cans of energy drinks emblazoned with their image, nothing compares to seeing them in the flesh. They’re bigger than he expected, for one thing; he’s always been on the short side, but the first chocobo he steps up towards towers over him in a way that might be intimidating if it weren’t for the friendly eyes and bright yellow feathers.

‘Wanna ride one?’

Gladio has finally caught up — Prompto turns and looks at him, incredulous.

‘We can _ride them_?’ Prompto says.

‘What’d you think this place is for?’

Prompto can barely keep still as Gladio heads up to rent them each a bird. Even once Gladio has a hold of the reins, Prompto can’t believe that this is really happening. _He’s going to ride a chocobo._

Gladiolus seems to know his way around these big, gentle birds; he clambers up onto his mount with little difficulty, looking every bit as comfortable on its back as he does behind the wheel of his truck. Prompto has trouble even getting onto his chocobo so the attendant has to help him out, giving him a leg up.

As soon as he’s on the chocobo’s back he feels like the whole world spans out below him. The lofty heights are a little dizzying if he’s honest, but he focuses on Gladio as he reaches out a hand to hold onto Prompto’s reins.

‘Get a good grip,’ Gladiolus says, showing Prompto how to hold on properly. ‘These fall out of your hands, you’re a goner.’

Prompto can feel himself wobbling on his perch, but with Gladio’s guidance he manages to remain upright. The attendant waves them off with a smile and soon they’re moving, the birds carrying them away from the ranch at a gentle pace.

‘Ohhhh my gods!’ he gasps. He feels the chocobo lurch forward a little bit and just about gets it under control, tightening his hold on the reins. ‘I’m doing it! I’m riding a chocobo!’

Beside him, he hears Gladiolus give an unrestrained laugh. With a little jolt in his middle, Prompto realises he doesn’t think he’s ever heard the guy sound so carefree. When he looks over, Gladiolus has a big grin on his grin on his face, not unlike the one in the picture from his twentieth birthday on his _Moogle Match_ profile.

‘Where to?’ Gladiolus says. ‘Your choice.’

Prompto looks ahead at the road leading from the ranch, then off to the south. His chocobo responds to his movements a little more swiftly now, and he gives an experimental twirl with a whoop of delight. Where the chocobo stops, he points straight ahead.

‘Thattaway!’ he says, and spurs his mount forward.

* * *

His thighs ache, but he doesn’t care.

They’ve been all over — playing at racing one another across the plains, or taking up a comfortable trot side by side. They stop to grab some food from a Coernix station along the road, and when Gladio finds them a suitable spot they dismount to have a picnic.

Gladiolus has a sack full of gysahl greens; he hands one to Prompto and watches, grinning, as he feeds it in delight to his chocobo.

The food isn’t much, just prepacked sandwiches and granola bars, but as they sit cross-legged in the grass off the beaten track, Prompto thinks this might be the best picnic he’s ever had.

‘I can’t believe how much I’ve been missing outside Insomnia,’ he says.

He lies back lazily, arms resting under his head, and looks up at the sun-dappled trees above. Where the branches sway gently, he sees snatches of pure blue skies beyond. It’s easy to relax, to close his eyes and let the murmuring of the breeze through the blades of grass lull him into a daydream.

He can hear Gladio moving at his side, peeks one eye open to find him leaning over, lips slightly parted and expression serious. There must be a gap where skin shows between the hem of Prompto’s shirt and the top of his pants — he feels Gladio’s fingertips play gently across it. When he can’t help but shiver, a subtle smile crosses Gladiolus’s lips.

Prompto feels bold; he wets his lips and rests a hand on Gladio’s knee, meeting his eye.

‘You thinking about kissing me again?’ he says.

He sees Gladio’s eyes widen just slightly, sees the surprise there. He wonders if he said the wrong thing, but the smile is still there.

‘I _was_ ,’ Gladiolus replies. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘But now I’m not so sure.’

Before the pout can fully form on Prompto’s mouth, Gladio moves closer, leaning down. His lips meet Prompto’s chastely at first, but then his fingers brush softly against that sliver of skin again and Prompto feels his stomach flutter.

The chocobos are tied up around a tree a few yards away, happily pecking at the ground. Prompto and Gladiolus have strayed so far from civilisation that they could stay here for hours without seeing another person.

Prompto lifts his arms, slipping them around Gladio’s neck. Pulls at him gently, then a little more insistently. When Gladiolus responds by moving to straddle him, he thinks he might just be dreaming.

Gladio pulls back a little and watches him, slipping his fingers through Prompto’s hair. Prompto knows it’s gone into loose curls, dry now from their dip in the ocean; normally he’d be self-conscious of being seen without taking to it first with a flatiron and product, but he doesn’t feel like he needs to hide it from Gladiolus.

He doesn’t feel like he needs to hide _anything_ from Gladiolus.

‘Is this okay?’ Gladio says, momentarily somber. ‘It’s not too much?’

‘Dude,’ Prompto says. ‘This is _totally_ okay. This is _better_ than okay. This is like okay on caffeine.’

Gladiolus shakes his head, barely gets out a chuckle before he moves to initiate another kiss. Prompto can feel the smile on his lips, can feel him shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

‘Somebody’s on caffeine,’ Gladio says, against his lips. ‘That’s for sure.’

He doesn’t stall very long before resuming their kiss, and Prompto’s glad; he likes talking to Gladio, likes the easy conversations and teasing, but this — Gladio’s mouth on his, fingers knotted gently through the curls of his hair — is so much better.

Tentatively, he slips an arm from around Gladiolus’s neck. Moves it down and slips it under the hem of his tank, resting his hand on Gladio’s hip where his thumb finds the little groove of muscle running down from it. He thinks he can feel Gladio’s skin erupt into goosebumps under his touch; thinks the kiss gets just a little more urgent.

He could get used to this.

Gladio’s breathing is shallow when he breaks away, his pupils pools of black, the irises barely slivers of amber. Prompto watches him lick his lips, watches his teeth press just a little into his bottom lip.

‘Not that I’m not enjoying this,’ Gladio says, his voice thick, ‘but we’re probably not gonna hit Lestallum before sundown at this pace.’

Prompto gives a groan of disappointment. As much as he knows Gladiolus has a point, he’s reluctant to leave.

Gladiolus breathes out a little sigh and sits up, loosening his fingers from Prompto’s hair so that he can grab his phone from his pocket. He stares at the lock screen — a picture of an eagle and a sword — for a long while before dimming it and slipping it back into his pocket.

‘All right,’ he says. He settles back down atop Prompto, one hand finding its earlier place tangled in his hair while the other fits neatly in the curve of his neck. ‘Ten more minutes, _then_ we go.’

The urge to give a little shout of victory comes and — miraculously — goes without incident. He puts that energy instead into pulling Gladiolus down close and mouthing a kiss into the angle of his jaw, by his ear.

‘Make it fifteen,’ he whispers.

Gladiolus’s rumbling little laugh vibrates against his chest; his hand tugs gently at Prompto’s hair and this time it’s his turn to minister the next kiss, pressing one to Prompto’s cheek, then his neck, then the lobe of his ear.

‘You got yourself a deal.’


	9. Chapter 9

Gladiolus warned him that Lestallum would be hot. He warned that the air would be heavy and humid, that there would be no breeze, that the sun would seem to glare down on the city with the heat of a thousand fires.

Prompto has been warned, yet he isn’t prepared for just how damn hot it really is.

He had thought at first that it was just the truck, building up heat — when Gladiolus had pulled up in a parking spot, the current of air dying down as they drew to a halt, it had felt like sitting inside a sauna.

If anything, it’s worse outside.

He has already shed his vest, draping it over his arm while he lugs his things up the steps toward the main street. If Gladiolus hadn’t reassured him there would be air conditioning at the hotel, he would probably turn back and walk out of the city himself.

‘Let’s leave our stuff at the hotel,’ Gladio says. He seems like he’s built for the heat more than Prompto, but even so there are beads of sweat on his brow, on his neck. ‘We can figure what to do from there.’

Prompto’s short of breath by the time they find their way up the steps outside the Leville. It’s fancier than he had expected, and the architecture alone leaves him feeling undressed, with his sweaty clothes and unruly hair. He tries to tell himself Gladiolus isn’t in much better shape, but when he glances over at his companion he seems to exude a sort of unflappable cool, as though aware that his tattoos and long hair are out of place and yet he doesn’t care even a little.

Prompto sighs. And this guy wants to be with him, somehow.

‘Reservation for Amicitia,’ Gladio says, when he steps up to the front desk.

It takes a little while for the clerk to search through the reservations and find their booking; Prompto hadn’t expected the place to be as busy as it is. There’s a couple sitting elsewhere in the lobby, using hotel pamphlets to fan their faces, and a handful of luggage trolleys are already full to bursting with guests’ belongings.

‘Ah, yes,’ the clerk says, popping his head up. ‘I have you here. So sorry about the delay.’

Prompto decides the interior of the hotel is less intimidating than the outside, as they head to their room. Everything has a kind of homely, lived-in feel — as though this place is somebody’s pride and joy, beyond the lustre of the Leville name. Flowers have been set out in vases all about the halls, in pretty, fragrant arrangements, and he finds himself wondering how many they go through in a week to keep the place decorated.

The doors are secured with lock and key, not swipe cards like even the most lowbrow establishments in Insomnia. It’s a little like stepping into the past; it’s easy to forget the rest of Lucis lagged behind when the king threw the Wall up around the city.

The hotel had been a bone of contention between the two while planning their trip, but he’s pleased now that Gladiolus managed to convince him to accept the treat. There’s a wall of cool air as Prompto steps through the door and he stands basking in it for just a bit too long before shuffling into the room.

There are two beds: both queen size, both neatly-made with tasteful floral linens. Gladiolus lets him pick out whichever he wants — he grabs the one nearest the window, to be closer to the view — and Prompto dumps his stuff at the end of it.

‘I’m gonna grab a cold shower,’ Gladio says. ‘If you want you can take one too, then we can go for dinner?’

‘Sure.’

Prompto occupies himself while Gladiolus is in the en suite by scoping out the room. It seems the Leville has everything: complimentary towels and robes, a TV with hundreds of channels, and — to his great pleasure — free WiFi. Rather than delve straight into social media, he digs his camera out of his bag and looks through the photos from the past two days.

Amid the usual selfies, he has stolen some shots of Gladiolus. There’s even one of them lying together in the grass out in the wilds, Gladio trying in vain to hide his face with his hand. Prompto doesn’t even mind that his hair is all messed up and curly in that one; the smile on Gladio’s face is more than enough to distract from it.

He has a handful of photos from along their journey, mostly at Hammerhead, but nothing that jumps out as contenders for his assignment. He feels a worrying little tug in his chest, the pressure of a looming deadline, but he decides to put the thought aside for now.

He’s surfing channels on the TV set in the corner when Gladio emerges, a towel wrapped around his waist.

‘You’re in a nice hotel in a city away from home and you’re watching TV?’ Gladiolus says, an eyebrow cocked.

Prompto lifts a finger and points.

‘They’ve got a twenty-four-hour chocobo racing channel. Of _course_ I’m watching TV.’

Gladiolus just shakes his head with a smirk that tugs something in Prompto’s chest and makes him want to wrap his arms around Gladio’s waist. Maybe if the guy weren’t only in a towel, he would.

‘C’mon,’ Gladio says, throwing a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. ‘Shower. You can watch TV all you want when we get back.’

The tiles on the floor in the bathroom are blissfully cool under Prompto’s feet. He pulls off his shirt and struggles out of his binder, stuck to his skin with sweat as it is; once he’s down to his boxers he turns the cold faucet all the way up, steps out of his underwear and scampers into the tub.

It’s mind-numbingly, bone-achingly cold — and it’s perfect. Even the crystalline surf at Galdin Quay has nothing on the stream of ice-cold water jetting down against his skin, and it’s hard for him to decide whether he likes the cold or the pressure more.

Gladiolus left his bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the rack at the corner of the tub; surreptitiously, Prompto opens it up and sniffs from the lid. It smells like something spicy and floral — maybe not a scent he would pick out for himself, but still nice. 

When he’s done, he towels off as best he can and slips into fresh clothes, rueing the tight squeeze of his binder. In an ideal world he’d probably run a flatiron over his hair before heading out, but they don’t have an hour to spare. Besides, Gladiolus doesn’t seem to mind the curls, so he towels his hair dry and leaves it at that.

* * *

Prompto’s belly feels full enough to burst after dinner, but he agrees to Gladio’s offer of a walk down to the overlook. He fans himself with a paper napkin while they walk, and Gladiolus gives him a verbal tour of the city.

‘The power plant is run by women,’ Gladiolus says. ‘When the shift ends for the day, you see ‘em all out blowing off steam.’

Prompto can see what he means — there are clusters of workers standing around, tired but eager for the night’s festivities, and they’re all women. Some of them look like they could give Gladiolus a run for his money, muscles showing under smooth, tanned skin: a product of years of labouring in the plant.

‘Just women?’ Prompto says.

‘Uh-huh. I don’t know why. Always been that way.’

It’s not like back home — Prompto finds himself wondering if this is better, or worse. In Insomnia, all of the more physical trades are dominated by men. He tries not to dwell on memories of growing up, of walking past construction sites in the skirt and blazer that had made up his school uniform back then.

‘Do you come here much?’ Prompto asks. 

Gladio makes a noncommittal sound.

‘Nightlife’s pretty good, if you know where to go. Glaives drag me out for their three-day benders sometimes.’

‘ _Three days?_ ’ Prompto echoes.

Gladiolus smirks.

‘You think you’ve seen them shitfaced?’ he says. ‘That’s nothing.’

They pass by a vendor with a cart full of skewers. The smell is beyond enticing, but even the mere _thought_ of more food makes Prompto groan. He reminds himself to hit it up tomorrow, but before he can fully process the thought, he realises Gladiolus has stopped to order some.

‘You’re a beast,’ he says, shaking his head in disbelief as they continue their walk.

Gladio’s too busy stuffing a skewer into his mouth to reply.

The food is gone by the time they reach the outlook. Not for the first time, Prompto sees Gladiolus lick the marinade from his fingers and this time — now that he knows the guy better, now that he’s not so terrified of screwing up — he wonders how the hell somebody like him ever came to be a member of the Crownsguard. Family duty or no, everything about Gladio is so _casual_ and so _easy_ that it’s hard to imagine him serving the future king.

‘What?’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto hadn’t meant to stare; he looks away, pinning his focus on the view, but he can feel Gladiolus still watching him warily. When he looks back, Gladio has his head cocked like he’s waiting for an answer.

‘Nothing,’ Prompto says, shaking his head. ‘Just wondering what it’s like to have a bottomless pit for a stomach.’

They had wine with their dinner; not enough to get them drunk, but enough to leave Prompto’s cheeks rosy and warm. At least there’s a breeze out here at the overlook, although he’s more in awe of the view than anything else. Even the digging of his binder into his torso is a distant thought as he looks out at the scenery beyond, and eyes up the drop below.

He’s somewhat familiar with the mythology behind the rift that runs adjacent to the city — it was touched on a little at school, and his curiosity at the time had led him to look up more about it — but now, seeing the gorge, it’s so much easier to believe that it really could have come as a result of some great war among the astrals. He feels incredibly small as he takes in the landscape, torn up by events long before he was ever born.

‘Pretty incredible, huh?’ Gladiolus says.

‘Yeah…’

Prompto is glad he brought his camera; he uncovers the lens and takes a few steps back, lining up a shot. He’ll get a clear one of the scenery when the lighting is better tomorrow, but for now he’s happy with what he’s got: Gladiolus, leaning against the wall as he looks out at the view, the world spanning out in front of him.

Gladio turns when he hears the shutter sound, lips parted with surprise. His expression turns to a wry grin and he strides forward, gently catching Prompto’s wrist.

‘You’re supposed to be taking pictures for your project,’ he chides. ‘Nobody wants to see me.’

‘Not true,’ Prompto says.

He lifts the camera with his free hand and snaps off a shot. He twists away before Gladiolus can protest; scurrying off, he pulls up the picture to get a look at it. It’s perfect — Gladio’s unaware, his glance trained above the level of the camera, but the sunset casts a rose-gold glow across him, turning his amber eyes to fire. Even in a rushed shot, he’s beautiful.

When Gladio catches up, Prompto turns the screen of the camera toward him.

‘Tell me nobody’s gonna want to see that,’ Prompto says. 

Gladiolus gently pushes the camera away as if he’s embarrassed, but Prompto thinks he sees a hint of pleasure there on his face. He knows the guy is proud of his physique — there are dozens of photos on his _Moogle Match_ profile that back that theory up — but this is different. Prompto wonders if, with that one little impromptu shot, he managed to show Gladiolus just how _he_ sees him.

‘Don’t tell me you’re camera shy,’ Prompto says. ‘I’ve been taking pictures of you since yesterday.’

‘Nah, just…’ Gladiolus tapers off, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. ‘I’m all sweaty.’

Prompto snorts. _He’s_ sweaty; he can feel it, in the small of his back, damp and cool.

‘Whatever, dude.’

He brings up his hand and punches Gladio gently in the arm, prompting a mock grimace of pain from him.

Wordlessly, they find their way back to the wall, where they stand side-by-side. Prompto bumps his hip playfully into Gladio’s thigh, only to be bumped right back.

* * *

They dawdle around town for hours, taking in the sights and sounds. Gladiolus shows him the market and the smells of exotic spices are enough to coax a little rumble out of Prompto’s stomach, even full as it is.

‘I know somebody who loves this place,’ Gladiolus says, as he buys a few pouches of spices and seasonings from one of the vendors. ‘Maybe I’ll convince him to cook for us sometime.’

It’s these moments — the _sometime_ s — that make Prompto giddy. They’ve only been on a handful of dates, and Gladiolus is talking about more. More time together, more getting to know each other, more _kisses._

Okay, maybe he’s getting a little ahead of himself.

‘That’d be cool,’ Prompto says, calm and casual.

He takes pictures of everything along the way — locals bartering with the vendors, sunstruck tourists fanning themselves in vain against the heat.

Gladiolus takes him toward the power plant, where the heat is all the more oppressive. _This_ is the reason for the extreme climate: the meteor shard from which the city draws its power. Prompto can feel sweat breaking out all over as he steps to the barrier around it to get a photo.

‘Okay,’ he says, once he’s had his fill. He feels a fat bead of moisture roll out of his hairline and down his cheek, disappearing under his jaw. ‘Too hot. Let’s get outta here.’

It’s dark by the time they head back to the hotel, the city lights coming to life all around. Where the city had seemed sluggish by day, busy but half-asleep under a haze of heat, by night it’s a metropolis. At every turn they pass plant workers making the most of their downtime; music streams from the doorways of clubs and eateries alike.

Prompto sees why the Glaives like it so much here.

The cool air is on full blast when they get to the room — it’s almost too much, but Prompto isn’t complaining. He flops down on the bed, face-first, while Gladiolus picks up the phone and orders drinks with ice to their room.

‘Still wanna watch TV?’

Prompto feels the mattress dip beside him, feels a hand glide up the back of his arm. Elsewhere in the room the air conditioning cycles, clicking on with a burst of cool air. He rolls onto his side and curls up facing Gladio; seeks Gladio’s hand out with his and turns it over, fingertips tracing lazy circles around his palm.

‘I’m good,’ he says.

He catches his lip with his teeth before he can blurt what _else_ he’d like to do — before he can embarrass himself beyond repair. There’s no harm in wishing, though; no harm in letting daydreams play out safely in his head.

‘You look tired,’ Gladiolus says. He slips his hand away and moves it to Prompto’s hair, stroking through the curls. ‘You sure you don’t wanna call it a day?’

It’s hard to say no when the motion of Gladio’s fingers across his scalp lulls him so deliciously, but Prompto manages to muster the energy to shake his head.

Gladiolus’s other hand is in his lap; Prompto reaches for it and pulls it over, brushing a kiss against the heel of it. When he thinks, sleepily, that he should be embarrassed, Gladio’s thumb moves and strokes along the curve of his jaw.

‘Thanks for this,’ Prompto says, lifting his chin. ‘The roadtrip, the hotel. Getting me out of my dull, boring life for just a little while.’

Gladio smirks.

‘Your life is not _dull_ or _boring_.’

‘Says you,’ Prompto counters. ‘Mister Shield-of-the-King.’

‘ _Future_ king.’

Prompto can’t help the disgruntled snort of laughter that bursts forth, entirely undignified. He reaches above him, grabbing one of the pillows and swinging it in an arc toward Gladio’s head. He expects his target to dodge; surprise jolts through him when he feels the blow connect with a soft _whump_.

He lets the pillow drop and waits, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, for Gladio’s response.

It’s hard to tell if there’s anger there; Gladiolus is looking away, his face angled downwards. When he finally turns, Prompto knows he’s in trouble — there’s a look of pure, evil mischief on his face, and Prompto barely has time to react before the pillow comes flying for his head in retribution.

He shoves the pillow away with an indignant little squeak, and there Gladiolus is. He’s not playing any more — the mischief is gone. Prompto watches, silent, as Gladio climbs onto the bed, kneeling over him.

Prompto’s heart thunders against his ribs. Across the room, the air cycles back off and plunges the room into silence.

This isn’t good-natured kissing in the grass in the middle of nowhere; it isn’t a hand ruffling lazily through his hair. This is… something _else_. Prompto’s still trying to figure out what exactly that is when Gladiolus carefully grips his hip, nudging him flat on his back. From there he just has to lean down, covering Prompto’s body with his own.

There’s a double window, opening out onto a little balcony overlooking the city — voiles as thin as gossamer trail down over them, billowing in the evening breeze. Prompto wonders if he should be worried about anybody looking in from elsewhere in the plaza, but then Gladio cups his cheek and draws his gaze back to him.

‘Is this okay?’ Gladio asks.

 _Is he ever going to stop asking that?_ Prompto wonders, and then the answer is clear as day — _No._ Not until he stops acting like a startled animal, trapped in the maws of something much more powerful.

That’s not how it is with Gladiolus; Prompto doesn’t feel weak or feeble or overpowered. Instead, the warmth that washes over him when they’re together is safety, is comfort, is happiness.

‘You need me to start cracking jokes again?’ Prompto says. He moves his hand to Gladio’s shirt, where it hangs away from his torso; nudges it upwards and out of the way, so he can press his palm flat into Gladio’s chest. ‘Okay on caffeine?’

If Gladiolus needs further reassurance, Prompto is more than willing to offer it. He moves his hand, fingers splaying across Gladio’s ribs; he feels the thud of Gladio’s heart there, heavy and strong.

Gladiolus leans close, lingers over him. Blinks once, twice, then closes his eyes and breathes out a slow sigh. Under his hand, Prompto feels Gladio’s body shift as he pulls away, sitting up. In one smooth motion he pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside, and Prompto once again gets a full view of the tattoo wrapped around his body.

It’s different this close — Prompto can see infinitesimal detail, from the soft edge of the feathers to the darker shading of the eagle’s beak and eyes. Underneath it, Gladio’s body is all honed muscle, and as the thought wanders into Prompto’s head of what it would feel like to press against Gladio, skin to skin, he lets it stay there.

Prompto moves his hands to Gladiolus’s chest, following the meticulous lines of his tattoo down and around, then slides them to Gladio’s hips. The guy’s skin is sweltering — not from the heat of the day, but from _this_ , and when Prompto thinks about it he can feel the heat welling up under the layers of his own shirt and the binder beneath it.

It only gets worse when Gladio leans close and kisses him, although it’s hard to think of it as _worse_. Prompto’s hot, and Gladio’s skin seems to burn when he presses down against him, and his stomach is a mess of butterflies — but it’s definitely not _worse._

He’s gasping when Gladiolus pulls away; he realises his hands had been grabbing, greedy and urgent, at Gladio’s hips.

He watches as Gladio adjusts his position, carefully nudging Prompto’s legs apart and coming to rest between them. As if that weren’t enough, he moves in close and Prompto can feel Gladio up against him through the denim of his jeans, unmistakably _there_ and — well, it sets a blush blooming across Prompto’s cheeks.

Carefully, experimentally, Prompto guides his hands around to rest in the small of Gladio’s back; uses them to pull Gladio in close and slips his legs around his waist, pinning him in place. That earns a smirk from Gladiolus, and Prompto is irrationally pleased. He’s never done this before, never been in a position to, and that he’s doing something right is enough to make him smile, too.

The next kiss is more urgent, a burn of stubble against Prompto’s lips as he fumbles to keep up. When Gladio’s tongue slips into his mouth, Prompto can’t help but make a little sound that might just be a moan.

His head is spinning when Gladiolus pulls away and opens his mouth to say something, but then there’s a knock at the door and whatever Gladio had been about to say comes out as a curse, low and rueful and disappointed.

‘The drinks,’ Prompto supplies, meekly, and Gladio nods.

Reluctantly, Prompto untangles his legs and lets Gladiolus go; watches him tug his shirt back on and wait a couple of counts before striding to the door, opening it just a crack.

Prompto hears a polite exchange, and the soft tread of footsteps retreating down the hall. When Gladiolus pulls away from the door, closing it behind him, he has a silver tray in his hand. He crosses the room and he still has the tray as he sits down at the edge of the bed. Breathes out a shaky breath and cards his other hand through his hair, lifting it briefly to expose the nape of his neck.

He laughs, and Prompto joins in, clambering onto his knees and crawling across to sit at Gladio’s side.

‘Great timing, huh?’ Prompto says.

He would’ve given everything before for the glass of soda, almost overflowing with ice — now… _Eh._

Still, he grabs the glass and takes a sip from it, cradling it in his hands.

‘Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,’ Gladio says, scratching his neck. ‘It was getting a little, uh.’

Prompto cocks his head.

‘Heavy?’

‘Yeah,’ Gladiolus says, with a chuckle. ‘Not that that’s a bad thing, but uh… Maybe we’re moving too fast.’

Disappointment pierces Prompto’s chest, and it’s difficult not to act like the child opening presents at Solstice only to realise he’s not getting that new video game after all. He knows he could set his drink aside, could follow the temptation to leave a trail of kisses up Gladiolus’s neck, and in a minute flat they’d be on the bed again, right where they left off.

But… he knows Gladio has a point.

‘You’re right,’ he replies, and he tries to rein in a sigh before it can escape.

He scoots back up the bed, pulling the remaining pillows upright and propping them against the headboard, where he leans back. Gladio, as though finally kicking into gear, picks up his own drink and sets the tray aside on the floor.

‘So,’ Gladio says. ‘Tomorrow. We stick around Lestallum a little while, then head back before dark?’

Oh, right. The part of the trip Prompto has been wilfully ignoring: going home.

This time, he doesn’t bother to restrain the sigh. It’s bleak enough for Gladiolus to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

‘Don’t remind me,’ Prompto says.

It’s Gladiolus who gets up and reclaims the TV remote, who flicks the set on and surfs until he hits the chocobo racing channel. When he returns to the bed he settles in at Prompto’s side. 

‘That’s tomorrow,’ Gladio says, leaning over to brush a kiss into Prompto’s cheek. ‘Forget about it for now.’


	10. Chapter 10

Prompto wakes to the fearsome crash and rumble of thunder overhead; to his sleep-muddled brain, it sounds like warring gods, like an orchestra mid-crescendo.

He bolts upright and looks around, expecting to see the familiar space of his room, only to find himself in strange surroundings — ornate furnishings, floral bedspreads, a great window thrown open as the voiles billow in the wind. It all comes back to him as he hears Gladio’s voice, as he feels Gladio’s hand reaching for his across the space between their beds.

‘Just a storm,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Looks like we got here in time for the heat to break.’

There’s static in the air, and Prompto feels it in the way the hairs stand up along his arms. It’s cooler now than it was during the day, but there’s an uncomfortable humidity to the air, a thickness that leaves him short of breath.

He’s jittery as he gets to his feet, still unsettled by such a sudden awakening; he stumbles a little as he moves around the bed toward the window and brushes the voiles aside.

A bright, dazzling white light illuminates the sky, throwing the city below into sharp relief. The streets are empty as the storm rages on.

The thunder that follows the latest flash of lightning comes sooner than anticipated and he jolts, startled by the sound. He’s been through storms before — minor ones that interrupted the monotony of his childhood, and more fierce ones that had driven him into his parents’ bed when he was little — but this one is dreadful and booming and _so close_. He can feel the hairs prickling at the nape of his neck this time, and when his arms erupt into goosebumps he hugs himself tightly.

‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little thunder and lightning.’

Gladio’s words might seem mocking, but his tone isn’t as he steps up behind Prompto and pulls him into his embrace. He’s all warmth and pleasant, familiar smells, and Prompto’s head fits snugly beneath Gladio’s chin.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so close,’ Prompto murmurs. He feels like the storm is chasing away his voice.

Gladio’s hands clasp in front of Prompto’s belly, a thumb stroking absently over the material of his shirt. To Prompto, they could be standing in the middle of the storm itself and he would still feel safe, as long as Gladio held him.

‘Come back to bed,’ Gladio says. ‘You can crawl in with me.’

Gladio’s bed is still warm to the touch, the sheets smelling strongly of him. It’s a comforting scent, and Prompto sinks in under the covers as Gladiolus slips in beside him, pressing up close.

With time, the claps of thunder grow quieter and less frequent; soon the night is still. Outside the window Prompto can hear the soft pattering of rain that steadily grows to a low roar. It’s a soothing sound, one that has lulled him to sleep many a time over the years, and it’s made harder for him to stay alert by Gladiolus holding him close.

‘You awake?’ Gladio murmurs.

Prompto nods. He feels Gladio shift slightly, feels him press a warm kiss into his neck just above the collar of his shirt. Prompto wonders if there’ll be a reprise of their embrace earlier, when it had been cut short by a knock at the door — wonders if now, in the dead of night with the hiss of rain outside, they’ll take that plunge.

He’s sleepy and comfortable, and he feels no rush even as he turns over to face Gladiolus and kisses him, first at the corner of his mouth and then in the middle. Gladio’s hand is heavy where it moves to sit on his hip, his thumb slipping just slightly under the band of Prompto’s boxers, and Prompto can’t help but smile against his lips.

It feels like sleep is the last thing on either of their minds, but inevitably the kisses taper off and Prompto hears Gladio’s breathing slow as he nods off. Prompto isn’t far behind; chest to chest with Gladiolus, wrapped up in his warmth, he drifts into sleep as the rain pours ceaselessly outside.

* * *

It’s still raining the next morning; the sound of the downpour serenades Prompto as he eats breakfast in bed while Gladio showers in the other room.

It had struck Prompto sometime around dawn, when the birdsong outside the window had woken him up, that he could get used to waking up beside Gladiolus. That had sparked a little daydream about having sleepovers someday at Gladio’s place, and he had snuggled in closer against Gladiolus’s chest, careful not to stir him from his sleep.

The sound of the shower dies off in the bathroom. There’s a bump against the wall, a muffled curse, and a moment later Gladio steps out looking disgruntled.

‘If I could change anything about this place,’ he grumbles, ‘it’d be bigger bathtubs.’ 

Prompto snorts as Gladiolus shows him a red mark on his leg where he must have hit it clambering out of the bath. He reaches out, poking Gladio in the thigh just below where his towel is wrapped around him.

‘It’s not the Leville’s fault you’re so built,’ he says.

He makes a show of trying — and failing — to fit his hand around the span of Gladio’s thigh, and feels a thrum of pleasure as Gladiolus gives an easy chuckle in response. Before he knows it, Gladiolus cups his hand under his chin and tilts it up, stooping to kiss him.

Water drips from his hair, down his face; Prompto feels a drop bead against his top lip where it meets Gladiolus’s.

They’re in a fancy hotel, Gladiolus in little more than a towel while water rolls down his skin and Prompto in an oversized shirt, his hair in snarled curls; if Prompto could, he’d give anything to let this moment last forever.

Gladiolus presses a hand flat to Prompto’s chest, gently pushing him away. Prompto thinks he sees something like reluctance in Gladio’s eyes.

‘You should finish your food and go take a shower,’ Gladio says. ‘We can explore the city a little more after checkout, if you want.’

He snatches a slice of toast from in front of Prompto and crunches on it, dusting crumbs from his chest where they fall.

Prompto takes his time finishing up his breakfast. He can feel their inevitable return to Insomnia hanging over him, particularly his classes in the morning, and the weekend has been such a welcome reprieve from his life that he can’t help wondering if there’s any way of delaying things. He knows that Gladiolus has responsibilities to go back to as well, though — even more so than he does.

He drags his feet once he’s done, and Gladio all but pushes him toward the bathroom with a laugh. Prompto just has time to see Gladiolus unwrapping the towel from around his hips as he shuts the door behind him.

* * *

Lestallum is better with a break from the heat, but the rain makes the city seem miserable: the brightly painted buildings are muted, the streets filled with puddles, and they seem to be the only people willing to brave the elements.

It isn’t long before the inclement weather drives them indoors; they hunt out a café, wedged into a corner, and shake off their rain-splattered clothes before stepping inside.

The place is empty — it gives off every impression of being closed, and if it weren’t for the door being wide open they might never have come in. At least there’s no competition for seats, and the man behind the counter is friendly enough when he takes their orders.

‘Wanna leave after this?’ Gladiolus says, between sips of herbal tea. Whatever it is, it’s sweet and fragrant. ‘Not much to do here when the weather’s so bad.’

Prompto gives a long, laboured sigh over his hot cocoa. Even topped with cream and marshmallows as it is, it’s not enough to distract from reality.

‘I guess,’ he says. ‘Kinda hoped I’d get some shots of the city today but it’s too wet to use my camera.’

He realises he’s just complaining now — probably not being the best company for Gladio — so he distracts himself by looking around the café. It’s a cosy little place, nestled away as it is; the walls are covered in various photographs of the area, from tourist spots to atmospheric captures of the streets.

Without warning, he rises to his feet to get a closer look at the ones on the wall by their table. 

‘I _knew_ it,’ he blurts.

Gladio looks at him, nonplussed, while he taps at one of the photos on the wall. It’s a shot of the overlook at the edge of the city, but there’s somebody with their back to the camera at the edge of the frame, marked with a familiar tattoo.

‘That’s you, right?’ Prompto says. ‘Only… it looks pretty old.’

The edges of the print of faded and curled at the corners, and the colours are washed out as though they’ve been bleached by the sunlight. He’s still riddling it out when Gladiolus stands up and leans in to take a closer look.

‘Holy shit,’ he murmurs. ‘That ain’t _me_ , that’s my old man.’

Prompto stretches up on the tips of his toes to get a better view. It’s hard to tell them apart — Gladio’s father even wore his hair the same way once upon a time — but Prompto can spot the differences now that he knows to look for them.

‘Must’ve been about thirty years back,’ Gladiolus says, shaking his head as if in disbelief. ‘King Regis would’ve been there, too.’

Prompto settles back into his seat and takes a sip of his cocoa. It’s hard to imagine the future king being in Lestallum, standing on the very overlook where they spent time the previous day — stranger still to think of Gladio’s father being there, the spitting image of his son. He watches Gladiolus settle into his own seat across the table, although his eyes are still trained up on the photo as he absentmindedly drinks his tea.

‘Iris’d get a kick outta that,’ he says. ‘Not too many pictures left from when he was younger.’

Gladio takes a quick picture of it on his phone before they go; he slips his phone back into his pocket and moves to the counter, dropping a handful of change into the tip jar with a smile at the owner.

They make it back to the pickup in a rush, throwing themselves inside as though the worst of the damage hasn’t already been done. Prompto tugs at the strands of his hair, wondering why he ever bothered to style it, while Gladiolus starts up the engine.

‘We’ll be going by the chocobo post on our way back,’ Gladio says, glancing at Prompto before returning his attention to the road. ‘At least you’ll get to see the chocobos one last time before we head back.’

‘Yeah,’ Prompto murmurs.

It’s a small consolation, but even he can’t help but smile at the thought of the birds waiting at the ranch, their bright plumage and cheerful calls ready to chase the gloom away.

* * *

It’s late by the time they get back to Insomnia; later still when Gladiolus drops Prompto off at the front of his house. At least it’s not raining here, although the streets are slick from earlier downpours.

One of the windows is lit up on the second floor — his parents’ bedroom. He can’t remember the last time they were in the house at the same time, although he has no illusions about spending any time together. He mentioned the road trip in passing to his mother when it had first come up, but she had responded with little more than a distracted ‘ _That’s nice, dear._ ’

Gladio helps him carry his things to the door, setting them down carefully on a dry spot by the door. Once everything is ready, Prompto slips his keys from his pocket and lets them dangle from his hand. He’s stalling again; once he slots the key into the lock, there’ll be no turning back.

‘Almost forgot,’ Gladio says.

He rummages around in his pocket for a moment — when he withdraws his hand, there’s something fluffy and obscenely yellow in it. Prompto doesn’t need to get a close look to recognise that it’s a chocobo, and he feels his heart skip as Gladio presses it into his palm.

It’s a keychain from Wiz Chocobo Post. Gladiolus must have picked it up without Prompto noticing.

‘I know it’s nothing special,’ Gladio says. ‘Just… couldn’t resist when I saw it.’

Prompto doesn’t miss the way Gladio’s fingers close over his hand where he presses the keychain into it.

‘Thank you,’ Prompto says.

Gladiolus slides his hand up Prompto’s wrist, then up his arm. It’s at his cheek a moment later, angling his face upwards, and he’s very much aware of his parents upstairs and the nosy neighbour across the street, but they’re all far from his mind as Gladiolus kisses him.

‘Goodnight,’ Gladio says, taking a step back. ‘Let me know how your assignment goes.’

‘Will do,’ Prompto murmurs. ‘Goodnight.’

He watches Gladiolus climb into the pickup; waves when he turns to look. For a moment Prompto thinks Gladio might just not leave, but then he starts up the engine and flashes a hand, his truck rumbling off down the street.


	11. Chapter 11

Of all the photos Prompto had developed at the dark room on campus, there’s one he keeps coming back to. It’s a shot of Gladio while he’s driving, his eyes trained on the road. He has his elbow propped against the open window, his hand cradling his head. His lips are a little way open; Prompto caught the picture while he was absentmindedly singing along to the radio.

He hadn’t had the best singing voice by any means, but Prompto had felt like he could listen to it all day.

He touches the edge of the picture, careful not to smudge its surface. It’s been three days since they last saw each other and all he can think about is calling Gladio and asking when they can see each other again.

Not that they haven’t spoken on Moogle Match and by text, of course, but it isn’t the same — not when he wants nothing more than to feel Gladio’s lips against his, feel those strong hands hold him tight.

He’s supposed to be working on his assignment. This is _not_ helping.

It’s due after the weekend, which theoretically gives him enough time to cobble something together, but every time he looks at the pictures taken over the course of the road trip he either gets distracted or finds himself so anxious about the looming deadline that he winds up procrastinating and doing something else entirely.

He sets the photo down and heaves himself up from the floor, heading over to the computer. All his usual tabs are open, waiting to tempt him away from his work, but he spots the red and white colours of the Moogle Match and heads there first.

There are no new messages, but he’s better now at trying not to jump to conclusions — he knows Gladio has a job, responsibilities and a whole life that Prompto has yet to even dip a toe into; if he hasn’t sent a message, he has his reasons.

> still thinking about that dinner we had in lestallum. amaaaaziiiiiiing.

There. It’s nothing pushy — just an invitation to conversation, take it or leave it. He almost doesn’t expect a reply but it comes quickly with a _ding_ that makes his heart leap.

> _stop procrastinating._  
>

It’s so blunt it startles a little laugh out of him. He can just about picture Gladio on the other end of the connection, smirking at the screen.

> make me.

It takes a little while for the next reply to come in, so he clicks through the other open tabs. There’s a notification waiting on his FriendBook profile — a handful of people liking his new profile picture, probably because it’s one he took with Gladio.

_Ding._

> _that could be arranged. how bout I come over & whip you into shape? 50 pushups for every 10 minutes of procrastination._  
>

Now there’s a scary thought.

> anything but that! you’re too cruel!

> _gotta be cruel to be kind._  
> _tell you what_  
> _get your project done by friday night & I’ll take you out. deal?_  
>

He barely has to think — his fingers rattle off a reply in the affirmative and he shoots a glance over at the pile of photographs on the floor, mentally rearranging them. He’s got nothing, but that’s not good enough.

He only has a couple days to get it done if he wants to take Gladiolus up on his offer.

* * *

With the assignment complete in the nick of time, they make plans to meet at Blade’s Edge; Gladio had initially suggested they go to dinner, but the fear of being brought somewhere hopelessly fancy had been too much for Prompto to bear. At least with the bar it’s relatively familiar territory, although as he grabs the handle of the door and tugs it open, he feels as nervous as he did the first time he set foot here.

He knows it’s jitters over seeing Gladiolus again, after spending a whole weekend together. There’s still an insidious, nagging little voice in his head trying to convince him that Gladio doesn’t _really_ like him — at least, not _that_ way.

He’s fending off those same thoughts when he takes a seat at the bar, lost in the echo chamber that is his head as somebody steps up across the bar from him.

It’s Pelna.

‘What’s it gonna be, blondie?’

It dawns on Prompto that he should probably be past being insecure around Pelna, especially after the road trip. Whatever feelings Gladio might still harbour for him, Prompto doubts he had much time to dwell on them over their time together.

Yet there Pelna is, in his shirt that only seems to cling more tightly to the definition of his arms. His dark eyes glint in the ambient lighting of the bar; his lips curve into a smirk. If Prompto has a type, it may not be Pelna, but there’s no denying how good looking he is — if somebody were going for dark, handsome, and funny.

Prompto swallows and shakes his head.

‘Just… waiting for Gladio.’

Is he imagining the look of discomfort that flashes across Pelna’s face? He thinks maybe he’s not, but then Pelna turns his back to him awhile, rummaging around in the coolers behind the bar, before returning with a beer in his hand.

‘You were drinking this before, right?’ Pelna says, opening the cap and decanting the liquid into a chilled glass. ‘On me.’

Prompto picks up the glass with the hesitance of somebody navigating a minefield. He wonders if this is supposed to be a peace offering, and if so, _why._

‘You’re looking at me like I might bite off your head,’ Pelna says, with a laugh. It’s boyish and easy, lighting up his face; it’s hard to get a pin on his age. ‘You do that with all Gladio’s exes?’

If he’s trying to make Prompto feel more relaxed, he’s doing a terrible job. Prompto scrapes his thumbnail against the logo etched onto the side of his glass and looks down at the surface of the bar, taking great interest in the assortment of beer mats laid out across it. He dearly wants to question Pelna’s use of ‘ex _es_ ’, plural, but he has a feeling that’s something a dumb, insecure kid like him would say. Of _course_ Gladio has been with other people — other guys, and women. It’s not his business how many.

‘I’m _kidding_ ,’ Pelna says, leaning across the bar. He taps Prompto on the arm in a way that might just be this side of playful. ‘You’ve gotta lighten up, blondie.’

Prompto’s throat seems mercilessly dry, so he slakes his thirst with a sip of beer and swallows it down. When he finds his voice again, he lifts his head up and tries to meet Pelna’s eye, making it about as far as his nose.

‘ _Prompto_ ,’ he retorts.

He sees Pelna lick his lips, sees him stand there awhile in silence. When he dares to meet Pelna’s eye, he’s looking seriously at him.

Pelna picks up one of the beer mats, then drops it down a few inches away on the bar. It’s a meaningless gesture, a nervous tick, and Prompto wonders for the first time if maybe Pelna’s trying to give him a chance. Maybe he should, too.

‘Sorry,’ Pelna says. ‘Prompto.’

The beer is half gone by the time Gladio gets there. He’s not late — Prompto’s just going faster than usual, faster than he realises. Pelna has left him alone since their conversation and Prompto has been grateful for it, but he still can’t help feeling nervous being on the guy’s turf.

‘You got started without me?’ Gladio says.

Prompto swivels on his bar stool to greet him, but before he can turn all the way around he feels Gladiolus’s arm slip about his waist. It’s so carelessly affectionate that Prompto feels a blush works its way up to his cheeks and stay there, no doubt at home for the night.

‘I wasn’t waiting long,’ Prompto says. ‘Pelna got me a beer, on the house.’

He feels Gladio pull away, just slightly — just enough to look across the bar at Pelna as he serves other patrons. As if acting subconsciously, he skirts his fingertips up under the hem of Prompto’s shirt until they meet bare skin, brushing gently against it.

‘That so?’ Gladiolus says. ‘Pel doesn’t _do_ “on the house”.’

He withdraws his arm and settles onto the seat beside Prompto. He seems a little distracted, his eyes darting back across the bar from time to time — to Pelna, of course. Prompto tries not to let his imagination run rampant.

Tapping Gladio’s knee, Prompto flashes him a smile.

‘So,’ he says. ‘My assignment’s all ready to go. I submitted the digital component; just gotta bring my portfolio in on Monday.’

This time, Gladiolus’s attention is on him as he gives a pleased grin. He takes Prompto’s hand and squeezes it, and for a little while Prompto forgets the worry that had been creeping in at the edges.

‘That’s great,’ Gladio says. ‘I knew you could do it if you stopped getting distracted.’

Prompto gives a meek shrug. Gladiolus’s hand is still clasped around his; he’s more than happy to keep it like that.

‘Kinda hard with so many distractions.’

Gladiolus gives him a pointed look, like a teacher unimpressed by a student’s excuses.

When Pelna swings by, Gladio flags him down. They share a little chatter like they usually do, but it seems stilted somehow, like they have to force it. In the end Gladiolus just places his order and once Pelna fills it, he heads off again.

Prompto knows it’s not any of his business, but still — the curiosity tugs at him until he can hardly bear it any more. It can’t hurt to ask, right?

‘Is everything okay?’ he asks. ‘Things seem a little… off between you two.’

Gladiolus blows out a long, slow sigh that makes Prompto think maybe it’s a touchy subject. He’s all set to brush it off — to tell him not to sweat it — when Gladio shrugs, sipping from his drink and setting it aside.

‘He found out about the road trip,’ Gladiolus says, and when Prompto opens his mouth to interject he puts up a hand to halt him. ‘He was okay with it. Didn’t have much of a choice _not_ to be. Just brought up some stuff we needed to talk about.’

The curiosity is there again, the oh-to-be-a-fly-on-the-wall sensation, but Prompto realises that really, it doesn’t matter whatever was said between them. He trusts Gladio, trusts him to be honest if there’s a problem.

‘Anyways,’ Gladio says. He rests his hand on Prompto’s thigh and brushes his thumb against his knee. ‘Enough about him. You’re finished up with school soon, right?’

Prompto nods. He toys with his glass for a moment, swilling the liquid around within it, and takes a drink. He hears the noise of traffic from outside as the bar’s door swings open, scuffing closed a moment later and returning the place to its usual ambience

‘Class finishes in a couple weeks, then it’s just assessments and I’m home free for the summer.’

Gladiolus nods, opening his mouth to respond, but he stops himself before he gets that far. He’s looking off past Prompto, his expression torn between surprise and dismay. Prompto swivels around on his seat, not sure what to expect.

As if by magnetism, a crowd seems to slowly creep in around the newcomer. It’s not quite a swarm — not something so blatant — but Prompto sees the way people turn in that direction, the way those standing in clumps gravitate subtly closer. He assumes at first that it’s some celebrity, drawing everybody’s attention, but then there’s a break in the cluster of bodies and he sees the cause of the commotion.

It’s Prince Noctis.

He remembers sharing classes with the prince, sitting quietly in the back while staring at the boy’s artfully dishevelled hair. He had always wanted to work up the nerve to talk to him, but what would Lucian royalty have to say to a nerd like him?

The prince is making his way over, gently edging his way past people with the help of his companion, a tall, slender young man wearing glasses. They’re both dressed in dark clothes, simple but elegant, and they would probably blend in very well with the clientele of the bar if not for Noctis’s considerable fame.

Dully, he hears Gladiolus mutter ‘No freakin’ _way'_ behind him.

‘Gladio!’

The prince strides past Prompto, slinging an arm around Gladiolus. Prompto would never have thought it possible, but as he swivels back to look at them it’s like Gladiolus is trying to shrink away and vanish. He’s having a hard time of it, bulky as he is, and with everybody’s attention trained in his direction.

‘Aren’t you gonna introduce us?’ the prince says, flicking his glance up at Prompto.

It’s Prompto’s turn to feel like all eyes are on him, made only worse when heat prickles at his neck and ears. He busies himself with his drink, lifting the glass and drinking deeply from it as he tries to avoid meeting Noctis’s eye across the brim.

‘I’m gonna kill you,’ Gladiolus says flatly.

The other newcomer, the guy with glasses, chuckles somewhere behind Prompto’s shoulder. 

‘Charming, isn’t he?’ he says.

His accent isn’t the typical Lucian dialect — in fact, it’s somewhat closer to what Prompto would expect from the heir to the throne. Then again, nothing of Noctis seems to match what he’d expect of the crown prince.

‘Prompto Argentum,’ Gladiolus says. He gestures to each of them in turn. ‘This is Ignis Scientia, and Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, who I specifically asked _not to show up here._ ’

Noctis is still hanging from around Gladiolus’s neck, companionably close. When he reaches up and ruffles Gladio’s hair, Prompto feels like he might be losing his mind.

‘Couldn’t miss the chance to finally meet the one who’s been stealing you away from us all the time lately,’ Noctis says. He flashes a grin at Prompto, flicking his head to move a strand of hair from his face. ‘You’re a lucky guy. We always figured Gladio would wind up married to the job.’

‘ _Noct._ ’

Gladio’s tone is low with warning. It’s not quite anger in his eyes, but Prompto gets the feeling there are some choice words he would have with the prince if they were alone. Thankfully, Noctis seems to take the hint and unslings his arm from around Gladiolus’s neck before heading off down the bar toward Pelna.

‘Apologies,’ Ignis says. His arms are folded, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘He was… insistent.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Gladio mutters. He leans in close to Prompto — close enough that his lips brush Prompto’s cheek, setting off another bout of blushing. ‘We can get out of here, if you want.’

Prompto wonders if that’s what Gladiolus would prefer, and he almost agrees before it dawns on him that he might not get a better chance to acquaint himself with two of Gladio’s friends. He already knows some of the Glaives, current and former, but this is different.

‘I’m cool with sticking around, if you are,’ he says. When he hears a groan of resignation from Gladio, Prompto gives a soft little laugh and nuzzles a kiss into his jaw. ‘C’mon. It’ll be fun.’

Ignis is artfully looking elsewhere when they separate.

When the prince returns with drinks — four, one for each of them — Ignis dutifully helps hand them out. Noctis’s generosity seems to soften Gladiolus’s resolve somewhat; he downs his whiskey and gratefully accepts the new one from the prince.

‘It’s getting a little crowded here,’ Ignis says. ‘Shall we find a table?’

* * *

This isn’t quite how Prompto envisioned spending his date with Gladiolus, but he can’t say he’s not having fun.

Noctis seems to be almost as much of a lightweight as he is, yet he isn’t quite as slow of a drinker and any time someone’s glass is empty, he immediately orders another round. Gladiolus has no problem with the quickened pace, and whatever Ignis is drinking it’s fruity but seemingly low on alcohol, so Prompto finds himself having to try to keep up.

Pelna seems glad for the business, at least — the prince’s presence is attracting quite the crowd.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t introduce us already,’ Noctis says. Prompto thinks he might be slurring his words a little, but it’s hard to tell when he’s a little hazy himself. ‘Were you scared we’d embarrass you?’

Gladiolus is deadpan as he turns to Noctis. He’s got more liquor in him than anyone else, but he’s only marginally less sober than Ignis, who seems completely unruffled. 

‘That’s _exactly_ why,’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto can’t help but giggle and lean in against Gladiolus’s arm, resting his cheek on his shoulder.

‘I dunno,’ he says. ‘Your friends are pretty great.’

‘You _would_ say that,’ Gladiolus retorts. ‘You get along with everybody.’

He leans down, kissing the tip of Prompto’s nose, and Prompto wrinkles it pleasantly in response. Even as he hears Noctis make a gagging sound across the table, he taps his finger against the tip of his nose and Gladiolus places another kiss there.

‘Another round?’ Ignis says, suddenly rising to his feet.

Gladiolus shrugs by way of reply, and Prompto dips his head in a little nod, reluctant to dislodge it from Gladio’s shoulder. Across the table, Noct drains the last of his beer and pushes the bottle aside.

‘All right,’ Noct says. ‘Gladio, go give Iggy a hand.’

Prompto can’t see Gladio’s expression as he shifts his head to shoot Noctis a look, but he assumes from the prince’s wounded expression that it’s nothing friendly.

‘Iggy,’ Noctis whines.

With a sigh that tells Prompto he’s well used to this sort of exchange, Ignis turns toward Gladio and looks sternly at him.

‘Better to give in now,’ he says. ‘You know how persistent he can be.’

It’s like they’re talking about a little kid, not the prince — the whole thing feels surreal. If Prompto weren’t buzzed, he’d certainly _think_ he was.

‘Fine,’ Gladiolus mutters.

Reluctantly, he pulls away, leaving Prompto to support his own head. Prompto watches as the two walk away, bringing empty glasses and bottles with them, stepping in comfortably side by side.

‘So.’

Before Prompto knows it, Noctis is beside him, pulling Gladiolus’s chair closer with a screech of the legs across the tiled floor.

‘Gladio told us, like… _nothing_ about you,’ the prince says. ‘Not even your name. I think he was scared I’d track you down and show up at your door.’

Prompto recoils a little. The crown prince of Lucis, turning up unannounced on his doorstep? Not the sort of thing he was expecting when he started seeing Gladiolus.

‘Is that the sort of thing you do?’ he says meekly.

Noctis laughs and shakes his head. His skin is a little flushed from the heat of the bar, and the alcohol. It’s strange to see a member of the royal family so companionable, so _human_.

‘I remember you,’ Noctis announces suddenly. ‘We went to the same high school, right?’

Prompto nods; doesn’t bother to mention that they were in middle school together, too. He went by a different name then — looked a hell of a lot different, too. He’s not entirely ready to have that conversation with the crown prince just yet.

‘I kinda hoped I’d work up the courage to talk to you someday,’ Prompto says. He reaches over to the table and picks up one of the beer mats; it’s a promotional one, in the shape of a cactuar. He’s a little tempted to take it home with him. ‘Never did, though.’

‘You should’ve.’

Noctis is looking at him meaningfully; he’s a little wobbly where he sits, so he rests his hands on the arms of his chair and leans forward.

‘You’re a great guy,’ he says, pronouncing it proudly. ‘Gladio’s lucky to have you.’

Prompto’s still blustering over the compliment, entirely unsure how to respond, when Noctis leans back in his chair and stretches his arms out over his head, arching his back like a cat.

‘So what do you do?’ the prince says, once he sinks into the seat again. ‘Gladio said you’re into cameras?’

Prompto nods. Reflexively, he shoots a glance towards the bar, where he can just about see Gladiolus’s distinctive haircut over the shoulders of the other patrons.

‘I’m a student,’ he says. ‘I work at a comic book store at the weekends.’

‘No _way_ ,’ Noctis says, almost knocking the table over in his haste to sit upright. ‘ _Please_ tell me you’re actually into that stuff and not just doing it for cash.’

It’s a rare feeling — somebody being interested in what he has to say. First it had been Gladiolus; now it’s one of Gladio’s friends, the prince himself. Prompto’s afraid to get too used to it, but he figures he can allow himself to enjoy it for the moment.

‘I love comic books,’ he says brightly. ‘They’ve got a pretty amazing collection of vintage stuff too that I spend my shifts trying not to drool all over. One of those things costs more than I make in a month.’

Noctis’s blue eyes are wide with interest, he nods along, sitting up eagerly.

‘That’s awesome,’ he replies. ‘What’s the name of the place? I gotta drop by sometime when you’re working.’

There’s a little part of Prompto that worries this is just the beer talking, but he takes a moment to list out the location of his store and Noctis taps the name into a memo on his phone. Prompto isn’t expecting him to show up to where he works, not really — but it’s an amusing thought, at least.

‘After this round,’ Noctis says, ‘we are _totally_ heading back to my place. I’ve got a sweet collection I never get to show off to anybody.’


	12. Chapter 12

Prompto feels like his legs don’t really belong to him any more, but it’s kind of nice. It’s like he’s just white noise from the waist down — like he _knows_ he’s putting one foot in front of the other, but he can’t feel it.

It helps that Gladio has an arm wound tightly around his waist, holding him close while they walk.

Walking hadn’t been the plan, not originally. Noctis had tried to flag down a cab, but as the prince failed to anticipate, hailing a car on a Friday night is not the easiest of tasks.

‘We could always call a car,’ Ignis suggests, as they’re rounding the corner of the next block over.

Noctis stumbles to a halt, turning to press his hands down on his advisor’s shoulders.

‘You,’ he says, ‘are a _genius._ ’

So it is that hours after meeting the crown prince of Lucis, Prompto finds himself in the back of a royal car, for the first and probably _only_ time in his humble existence.

He tries not to be too giddy as he looks around the inside of it, inspecting the leather interiors, embellished with the Lucis family crest stitched into the seats. There are drinks holders, and an inlay where a set of crystalware glasses and a decanter lie, empty. The car glides so smoothly on the road that they barely move.

‘Is this, like… okay?’ Prompto asks, murmuring into Gladio’s ear. ‘Calling up a car in the middle of the night like this?’

Gladio doesn’t seem perturbed, and Ignis is impassive as he scrolls through his phone, engrossed in something that Prompto imagines to be official business.

‘Believe me, this is _early_ for Noct,’ Gladiolus says, keeping his voice low. ‘There’s always a night driver on standby, just in case.’

Prompto is expecting the driver to take them towards the Citadel, but they keep their distance from it as they make their way through the city. In the end, the driver drops them off outside an apartment building, although it’s nothing like the high-rise complexes Prompto is more familiar with. There’s even an attendant on the door, in a crisp uniform. She’s better dressed than Prompto.

She greets the prince with a neat little bow and smiles at the others as they pass. She seems friendly, but Prompto wouldn’t like to try muscling his way past her uninvited; a long blade glints at her hip, and he doesn’t doubt that she knows how to use it.

Prompto tries not to stare too hard at the lobby as they walk through it; at the chandelier that seems more like a work of modern art where it glitters overhead, or the dazzling marble floors, buffed to a brilliant shine that Prompto is almost afraid to sully with his shoes.

Once they get up to Noctis’s floor, he unlocks the door and sheds his jacket, letting it drop on the floor to the side of the entrance. Ignis hurriedly moves to pick it up, hanging it neatly from a nearby coat rack.

‘Beer?’ Noctis asks, glancing around the group.

Gladio shrugs, but Ignis raises a hand with a slight shake of his head. When Noctis turns to Prompto, he nods eagerly. 

‘Make yourself at home,’ the prince says, with a gesture towards the couch.

While Noctis goes to the kitchen, Gladio takes Prompto’s hand and leads him into the living area. They sit side by side, pressed in closer than they need to be on the broad span of the couch. Elsewhere, Ignis scurries around, tidying up after the mess Noctis must have left earlier.

He gives off the impression that this isn’t part of his job description, in the way that he regards the mess with such distaste. It seems to bother him to find it in such a state, and returning it to a state of order appears to be more about his own comfort level than anything else.

‘Iggy,’ Gladio says gently. ‘It’s fine. It’s just us.’

Reluctantly, Ignis sighs and gives up, moving to sit in an armchair across from them.

‘So the prince doesn’t live at the Citadel?’ Prompto says, glancing around.

Gladio grunts noncommittally.

‘Used to, ‘til he convinced the king when he was in high school,’ he explains. ‘Everybody figured a taste of independence might be a positive influence on him.’

Ignis coughs lightly into a gloved hand; if Prompto didn’t know better, he’d think the guy was smiling.

‘Was it?’ Prompto asks, nestling in against Gladio’s side.

‘Let’s just say it’s a work in progress.’

When Noctis returns, he has three beer bottles clutched in one arm while he carries a teacup in his other hand. He sets the cup down on the end table beside Ignis, then passes the beers to the others.

As he twists the cap off his own drink, he crosses the room and fiddles around with a stereo system set into an alcove in the wall.

‘Any requests?’ he asks, as he files through his collection.

‘Anything but that dreadful deathcore group,’ Ignis retorts.

Noctis picks out something mellow and keeps the volume relatively low before heading back over to the others. He slumps down on the couch not too far from Prompto and slaps him companionably on the leg.

‘So,’ he says. ‘You read the new issue of Nightbloom yet?’

At Prompto’s side, Gladiolus groans and lets his head drop against the back of the couch behind him.

‘What, twenty-nine?’ Prompto says. ‘That’s been out for months.’

He can see Noctis grow visibly giddy, like a child just bursting to impart information to a favourite adult. At the edge of Prompto’s vision, he sees Ignis and Gladio exchange a glance.

‘Nope,’ Noctis replies, with a flourish. ‘Thirty.’

Prompto’s opening his mouth to question it when Noctis jumps up suddenly, leaving his beer behind on the coffee table and vanishing into another room. Issue thirty isn’t out yet; from the creator’s Kwehblr he knows it’s finished, but the release date isn’t for another couple months.

‘Now you’ve done it,’ Gladio mutters darkly, but when Prompto turns to look at him he’s smirking.

While they wait for the prince, Gladio threads his fingers through Prompto’s hair. He kneads his fingertips methodically against Prompto’s scalp, and the effect is entirely too lulling. Prompto wonders how embarrassing it would be to pass out on the crown prince’s couch, drooling into his boyfriend’s shoulder and — well, _are they_ boyfriends yet? He still hasn’t thought to ask.

When Noctis returns, he holds a comic book in his hands like it’s some holy artifact. He presents it to Prompto in a sombre fashion, and when Prompto has it in his grip he realises it is, in fact, the next issue. It’s on thicker paper stock than the usual run, and the colours seem more vibrant — more stylised.

Slowly, it dawns on him: it’s a limited print, personally inked for the prince.

‘No _way_ ,’ he says, feeling his eyes go wide with disbelief.

Noctis grins like he couldn’t be more proud.

‘Yeah way!’

He settles back onto the couch at Prompto’s side, his knee touching Prompto’s thigh, and prods him eagerly in the arm.

‘Read it,’ he urges. ‘It’s freakin’ _amazing_.’

Reverently, Prompto opens the cover. The inside page has a signed note to Noctis, barely legible in an artist’s hand. He leans in against Gladio and, as Noctis looks eagerly on, reads through it.

Gladiolus and Ignis chat all the while, but Gladio’s fingers never let up in stroking through Prompto’s hair. From time to time Prompto grabs his beer and takes sips from it, but he can see Noctis is practically bursting to talk about the issue so he tries to not to take too long in reading it.

Once he’s done, he carefully closes it and hands it back to the prince.

‘Well?’ Noctis blurts. ‘What’d you think?’

* * *

They spend the time talking about comic books and playing King’s Knight, which Prompto is pleased to learn Noctis is a massive fan of. After the first beer there are a handful more, and by the time Prompto and Gladiolus blearily leave, Prompto’s tired and far beyond the point of tipsy. It’s a struggle for him not to bounce against the walls as they move down the hallway to the elevator, and Gladio practically has to hoist him through the doors.

‘It’s a good thing you’re so light,’ Gladio says as Prompto falls, giggling, against his chest. ‘Looks like I’m gonna be carrying you home at this rate.’

Prompto leans against Gladio’s solid form and clutches gently at his shirt, humming softly as he closes his eyes.

‘I’m not complaining,’ he replies.

There’s a different attendant when they leave, although he’s just as friendly — and seemingly lethal — as the last. Prompto considers asking if he’s part of the Kingsglaive, posted to keep an eye on Noctis, but he wonders if that’s the sort of thing he’s not supposed to talk about. There’s so much he’s still unsure of.

‘I’m calling you a cab,’ Gladio says, when it becomes abundantly clear from Prompto’s inability to put one foot in front of the other that he’s not going anywhere fast. 

He slips his hand into his pocket to grab his phone, but Prompto catches his wrist and presses up close to him, leaning his chin against Gladio’s chest and looking up at him.

‘I wanna go home with _you_ ,’ he murmurs.

He tries for something close to appealing, fluttering his eyelashes, and Gladio responds with a low chuckle and a shake of his head.

‘That’s probably not such a good idea,’ Gladio says gently. ‘You’re drunk.’

Prompto gives a groan and lets his head drop against Gladiolus’s chest. He appreciates what Gladio’s doing — looking out for him, making sure they don’t move too fast — but sometimes it gets a little frustrating. He doesn’t know when will be the right time but it feels so far away, whenever it might be.

‘I don’t wanna go back to my place,’ Prompto says, his voice muffled against Gladio’s chest. ‘I’m gonna miss you too much.’

He’s there like that a little while longer until he feels hands grip his upper arms and carefully push him away. Gladiolus is there, looking at him, and he leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead.

‘I know,’ Gladio says.

Reluctantly, Prompto lets Gladio lead him to the edge of the curb and nudge him to sit down.

The apartments and businesses here are so nice that Prompto wishes he were sober enough to appreciate them, and that he had brought his camera along. It’s not every day he has a reason to be out this side of town.

He feels cold and lonely at the thought of spending a cab ride home, alone, back to the miserable neighbourhood where he grew up. The streets here are so big, so sprawling, so full of promise that he’s already dreading the narrow, winding road where his house sits.

‘Glad?’

He twists at the waist and looks up at Gladio, where he stands with his phone in his grasp. Prompto reaches up for his free hand and tugs at it.

‘Can I spend the night at your place?’ he says. ‘We don’t need to do anything, I just… I really don’t wanna go home tonight.’

He sees Gladio deliberate, sees him tap his thumb idly against the screen of his phone. It’s like there’s some battle going on inside his head, and Prompto can’t figure out which side is winning. Prompto watches as the phone’s screen goes dark and Gladiolus pockets it.

‘All right,’ Gladio says. ‘But I’m taking the couch.’

Gladio helps him up, pulling him by the hand. Once Prompto’s upright he presses into Gladiolus’s chest and feels arms wrap around him, securing him in place. The urge to explain — to justify his clinginess — comes and goes. For once, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

‘It’s not too far from here,’ Gladio murmurs, above his head. ‘We can walk, if you want.’

Prompto pulls back and looks up with a nod.

‘I’d like that.’

* * *

The fresh air helps sober him up somewhat, although he’s still a little worse for wear once they reach Gladio’s place.

It’s nowhere near as grand as Noctis’s building, no attendant standing sentry at the door, but it’s nice in its own modest sort of way. It’s the sort of design that has original brickwork on display in places, and Prompto discovers it’s much the same inside Gladio’s apartment.

He takes a look around the living space while Gladio disappears into the bedroom. There’s an open floor plan like at Noctis’s, although it’s much smaller in size — cosier, even. A bookshelf catches his eye, sitting in the corner; he’s surprised to find it filled with books in a variety of genres, from literature to philosophy.

He’s over at the shelf, browsing the titles, when Gladiolus returns with a bundle of blankets in his arms. He dumps them on the couch — a beat-up looking thing with a patchwork quilt thrown across it — and moves to Prompto’s side.

‘What’s this?’ Prompto says, tapping the spine of a book written in an unfamiliar alphabet.

‘Sun Tzu,’ Gladio replies. ‘ _The Art of War._ ’

Prompto wrinkles his nose; it doesn’t sound like something he’d be interested in. He’s impressed nevertheless, though, that Gladiolus can read whatever language it’s written in. It seems there’s a lot he doesn’t know about the guy.

‘You hungry?’ Gladio asks. ‘I can make you something real quick.’

Prompto shakes his head. Now that he’s here, in the warmth of Gladio’s place, the last of his hyperactivity wilts away. He’d sink into the pile of blankets on the sofa right now, if he could.

He doesn’t need to explain; Gladio puts a hand on his shoulder and gently steers him, leading him across the room.

There are swords lined up all across the wall behind the bed, and for a minute Prompto just gapes at them. He had known Gladiolus’s collection was considerable, but somehow seeing it in person — and in his _bedroom_ — is something else.

Once he’s over the initial shock, he takes in the exposed brickwork of the wall behind the swords, and the floor-to-ceiling window along the right. The bed is low to the ground, with a solid frame of dark wood, and the covers are neatly made.

‘It gets a little warm in here,’ Gladio says. ‘Crack a window if you need to.’

Prompto perches himself on the edge of the bed, and Gladiolus crosses to his dresser, riffling through one of the drawers. When he steps away he has a t-shirt in hand and tosses it into Prompto’s lap.

‘That’s okay,’ Prompto says quickly. ‘You don’t need to—’

Gladiolus cuts him off with a shake of his head.

‘It’s there if you want it. You look better in my stuff, anyway.’

Prompto’s cheeks are still burning when Gladio leans down and cups his chin, kissing his forehead. It’s so nice, so tender, that Prompto wishes they were sharing a bed after all. Maybe it’s for the best, though — he’s not so sure he can trust himself.

‘I’m off tomorrow,’ Gladio says, as he retreats to the doorway. ‘Sleep in as late as you want.’

‘Okay,’ Prompto says. ‘Night.’

‘Goodnight, Prom.’

Once the door is closed, Prompto kills the lights and wriggles out of his clothes, trading them for Gladio’s shirt. There are no curtains over the windows, so when he slips in under the covers he finds the room bathed in a soft glow from the lights of the city outside.

The bed is more comfortable than it has any right to be, and everything smells like Gladio. All in all, it’s not a bad way to fall asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Prompto wakes up on edge, overly aware that he isn’t in his own bed. When the pieces of the night begin to come together once more, he stretches out and gives a sigh of contentment.

A glance at his phone tells him it’s still early — _too_ early — so he snuggles back under the covers and shuts his eyes.

He opens them again almost immediately.

It’s too bright, the early morning sunlight already setting the walls afire; he rolls onto his front and buries his head in the pillow, but when the brightness is no longer a problem he realises he has to contend with the noise from the street outside, instead.

He flops onto his back with a dramatic sigh. How does Gladio put up with this? It’s so _quiet_ where Prompto lives, so peaceful — sometimes in the summer he gets woken by the birds’ chorus outside, and sometimes Teapot does the job herself, but it’s never _this_ bad.

He drags himself, grudgingly, out from the fluffy, comfortable confines of Gladio’s bed and pads over to the door. When he opens it a crack, all he can see of the couch is the back of it, so he tiptoes out to see if Gladiolus is asleep.

He’s not; he’s not in the apartment at all, in fact.

Prompto feels a little jolt of alarm rush through him — that Gladio left because he didn’t want to be around him any more — before it occurs to him that he’s in Gladio’s place. If Gladiolus really wanted to get away from him, he probably would have told him to leave.

Right. _Idiot._

He’s not surprised when he finds himself making a beeline for the bookshelf. He only managed to get a glimpse of a few of the titles there the night before, so he takes his time in reading each one, starting from the top.

The front door opens while he’s in the middle of leafing through a coffee table book about Solheim architecture. Gladiolus steps in, plastic shopping bags in hand, and shuts the door behind him before looking the scene over. Prompto becomes very aware that he’s standing there, just in Gladio’s shirt and a pair of boxers, turning the pages of a book so heavy he has to cradle it in his arms.

‘You went out?’ he says, carefully closing the book. He turns and slides it back into its place on the shelf.

‘Yeah,’ Gladio replies. When Prompto turns back around, he sets the bags down and makes his way over. ‘Grabbed a toothbrush for you, and some food in case you were hungry.’

Prompto feels himself split into a grin at Gladio’s thoughtfulness.

Once Gladio is near, Prompto wonders if he should see about making use of that toothbrush before he gets any closer, but before he can put the thought into action Gladiolus loops an arm around his waist, underneath his shirt. His skin is pleasantly cool against Prompto’s spine, chilled by his trip outside.

‘You look really great like that,’ Gladio murmurs.

Prompto almost snorts, but manages to rein it in. He lifts a hand to pat his hair where it’s mussed up on top of his head, sticking up all over.

‘You’re full of it,’ he retorts.

Gladio smiles and shakes his head, and when he leans in for a kiss Prompto doesn’t have it in him to care that he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet.

When Gladiolus moves to pull back, Prompto slips his arms around him with a soft whine and feels a rush of pleasure when Gladio smiles and stays close. Prompto feels fingers stroke gently up his side, just skirting his ribs, and the contact makes him shiver.

‘This okay?’ Gladio says. ‘I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.’

‘ _Gladio_ ,’ Prompto says. ‘It’s okay. You don’t need to worry about me, I promise.’

Gladiolus still looks unconvinced; Prompto stands up on tiptoes and mouths a kiss into his jaw, ignoring the scratch of the stubble against his skin.

There’s something so pleasantly domestic about this — something so _right_. For all Prompto’s fretting over the fact that they haven’t gone all the way yet, it’s the moments like this that he lives for. He lets his head sink into Gladio’s chest, closing his eyes.

‘You gotta work today?’ Gladiolus says.

‘Mhm. Not ‘til three, though. I’m all yours until then.’

Prompto feels Gladio nestle his face into his hair, with a murmured ‘Good.’

When they pull apart, eventually, Gladiolus heads over to the shopping bags and roots around until he finds the toothbrush. He tosses it across the room and Prompto just barely manages to catch it.

‘Shower’s all yours,’ he says, pointing to the door to the right of his bedroom. ‘Borrow a shirt and some boxers, if you want. Least ‘til I can drop you home.’

Gladio waits only long enough for Prompto to come over and stretch up to lay a kiss on his lips before he picks up his spoils from the store and heads for the kitchenette. Prompto watches from the doorway of the bedroom for a little while, taking in the sight of Gladiolus pottering about getting breakfast ready.

Yep. He could definitely get used to this.

* * *

It turns out Gladiolus isn’t too bad of a cook — he definitely puts Prompto’s staple diet of energy drinks, leftovers and macaroni to shame. His scrambled eggs have a little kick to them, and the bacon is crispy in ways Prompto never knew he wanted.

‘You never told me what you went with for your assignment,’ Gladio says, spearing a piece of bacon left untouched on Prompto’s plate. ‘I’d love to see it, sometime.’

‘Later,’ Prompto says. ‘I’ve got it on my phone but your fingers are all greasy.’

With a flourish, Gladiolus licks his fingertips, making Prompto laugh.

Gladiolus had stacked a mountain of food on Prompto’s plate; whatever goes uneaten, he claims for himself. It still amazes him that he has such an appetite, even when he spends so much of his time training.

‘Sorry about Noct,’ Gladio says, as they’re cleaning up afterwards. ‘He isn’t usually so full-on.’

Prompto shakes his head with a little laugh and bumps his hip into Gladio’s.

‘Are you kidding?’ he retorts. ‘I got to meet _actual Prince Noctis_ and we bonded over comic books. How many people get to say that?’

There’s a little smirk on Gladio’s lips as he rinses the suds off a plate and moves it onto the rack by the sink.

‘He really took a shine to you,’ he says. ‘It was good to see.’

They finish up and towel their hands dry, and Prompto moves to leave — but before he can fully turn, Gladio puts a hand on his hip and pulls him gently back around. His other hand finds the other hip, and Prompto expects Gladio to kiss him, but he doesn’t.

‘Hey,’ Gladio says. ‘Got somethin’ I wanted to talk to you about.’

Panic fills Prompto, almost propels his legs around and out of the building before Gladiolus can get a chance to say whatever it is he wants to say. All he can think is that it must be bad, and if it’s _bad_ it must be that Gladio doesn’t want to see him any more, and if Gladio doesn’t want to see him any more…

His eyes must have gone wide; his worry must be written across his face. Gladiolus chuckles and shakes his head, as if answering the question Prompto’s brain is screaming.

‘Nothing bad,’ Gladio says.

Prompto swallows, and gives a meek little nod. He trusts Gladio, but it’s hard not to let the fear of rejection take over sometimes — especially when things are going so well.

He lets Gladio lead him over to the couch, sitting at the edge while Gladio settles beside him. He hadn’t seemed nervous when he initially brought the subject up, but he’s fidgeting with his hands, glancing about the room — Prompto doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this before.

‘Prompto, I—’ Gladio begins, and he cuts himself off with a shake of his head and a self-deprecating laugh.

Movement draws Prompto’s hands downwards; he watches as Gladio closes his hands into fists, opens them, then closes them again.

‘I’m just gonna spit it out,’ Gladio says. ‘I… like spending time with you. And I had an amazing time on that road trip. I was nervous about you meeting Noct because I… Huh.’

He takes a slow, deep breath and closes his eyes. As he opens them, Prompto reaches out and takes his hand, gently prying it open so he can twine their fingers together.

Gladio squeezes his hand, and tries again.

‘I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m really into you,’ he says, ‘and I… uh. I guess that’s it.’

He lifts his hand and scratches awkwardly at the back of his head, not quite meeting Prompto’s eye.

For a little while Prompto just sits there, taking in Gladiolus’s words. He’s gotta hand it to the guy — for somebody who comes across so confident and self-assured all the time, he sure seems vulnerable right now. Like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

‘Is this…’ Prompto says, cocking his head to the side. ‘Is this your way of saying you want to be with me?’

He feels that jolt of fear again when Gladio meets his eye, but instead of scorn there’s relief there, like he’s glad Prompto said the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

‘Yeah,’ Gladio says, carding his fingers through his hair. ‘I guess it is.’

Prompto moves until he’s kneeling on the couch and edges up closer, his hands finding their way to Gladio’s jaw. He tilts Gladio’s face upwards and mashes a kiss into his lips, not caring how clumsy it is.

Gladio’s arms wrap around him and pull, and suddenly they’re falling and Prompto lands on top of Gladiolus with a laugh against his lips.

‘Is that your way of saying you do too?’ Gladio says, with a smirk.

Prompto rests against Gladio’s chest and makes a show of tapping his finger against his jaw and looking off at the ceiling, as though he’s deliberating long and hard about it. When he stops, he presses another kiss against Gladio’s mouth and props himself up on his elbows, his chin in his hands.

‘Yeah,’ Prompto says, echoing Gladio’s earlier response. ‘I guess it is.’


	14. Chapter 14

Prompto is supposed to be working. _Supposed_ to be.

Truth is, the store has been dead since he opened this morning, like it always is on Sundays, so there isn’t a whole lot to do beyond inventory and tidying. He’s spent the bulk of his shift thus far on his phone, exchanging texts with Gladio.

It’s been three weeks since that morning at Gladio’s place; three weeks and a handful of sleepovers, albeit innocent in nature. Gladio isn’t on FriendBook so Prompto can’t add him, but that evening, after he had finished his afternoon shift at the store, he had changed his relationship status to ‘taken’.

The _kweh!_ of his message tone draws his eyes back down to his phone. It’s Gladiolus, of course — who else would it be?

_wanna stay over at mine tonight? we can rent a movie or something._

Prompto hears the bell ring over the door as he’s typing up a response; he ignores the incoming customer for a moment and finishes off the message, grinning quietly to himself all the while.

_why do I get the feeling when you say ‘rent a movie’ you mean old school vhs? do they even_ have _those anymore?_

There’s a little cough from the customer on the other side of the counter: a polite, I-know-you’re-busy-slacking-off-but-can-I-trouble-you-for-a-moment sort of cough that makes him guiltily look up.

It’s a guy around his age: dark hair, dark clothes, sunglasses obscuring half his face. Prompto’s first reaction is that he must be some kind of douchebag to be wearing shades indoors, but then the customer lifts a hand and takes them off, and he realises it’s Noctis.

There are circles around the prince’s eyes like this is earlier than he’d ever voluntarily leave the house, but he has the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

‘Gladio told me you were working this morning,’ Noctis says. ‘Thought I’d drop by for that visit after all.’

Prompto finds himself momentarily lost for words. The last time they saw each other there had been the cushion of alcohol to break the ice — and Gladio there for reassurance. Now that it’s just the two of them, he finds himself worrying that he’s going to look like a jackass. Even worse: the more he stands there, gaping, the more Noctis is probably judging him.

‘That’s cool,’ he says. ‘We’re super quiet today, anyways.’

‘So,’ Noctis says. ‘You said something about a vintage collection?’

Prompto feels a grin affix itself on his face. Maybe it’ll be awkward between them for a little while, but it’s okay; he just has to keep reminding himself that Noctis is a regular guy, once you get past the royal blood. He’s definitely not _dressed_ like the heir to the throne.

‘Yeah,’ he says brightly. ‘It’s over here. We got some new stuff in last week — well, new _old_ stuff.’

He leads Noctis over to the rack where the vintage comics can be found, all safely tucked away in their protective sleeves. For a little while Noctis just glances over them until he spots one near the bottom and drops to his haunches to get a closer look.

‘My dad used to read this, when he was a kid,’ Noctis says. ‘I found a bunch of ‘em when I was looking through his old stuff.’

Prompto peers down at the comic in question; without thinking, he fishes his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slips them on so that he can read the title.

‘Those are, like, _super_ rare,’ he says. ‘Probably worth a fortune.’

Noctis snorts.

‘Probably not _his_ copies,’ he retorts. ‘He read them so much they’re all falling apart.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Prompto says. He backs away a little to give Noctis room to stand, and a moment later they’re eye to eye. He feels less self-conscious now that they’re in his comfort zone, talking about something he knows. ‘Some collectors’ll shell out for issues they’re missing, if they’re desperate enough.’

He realises after a moment that Noctis is looking at him curiously. He worries he might have said something wrong, but then he realises — the glasses. They’re the thick-framed kind, probably too big for his face, but they were cute and they had chocobos and he only wears them for work and school, anyway.

‘Cool glasses,’ Noctis says, with a wry little smile.

Prompto knows what’s coming; he can feel the first prickles warming his cheeks. The fact that he’s standing here _blushing_ in front of the crown prince, who just complimented his glasses — and he’s not even sure if Noctis was being ironic, worst of all — is all suddenly too real. 

He makes a big show of turning toward one of the other racks to straighten the comics that he knows are already straight, because he just checked them a half hour ago.

‘Y’know what?’ Noctis says. When Prompto turns, he has the comic book in his hand. ‘I’ll take it.’

Prompto eyes the price sticker on the cover. When he had made a comment about some of the vintage issues being worth more than he makes in a month, he hadn’t been joking; this is just one such comic.

He tells himself he shouldn’t be surprised as he heads to the register and rings it up for the prince; Noctis must be worth a fortune. At the very least, Prompto will make a decent commission on it and — 

_Wait._

He looks up at Noctis with shrewd eyes, but the prince is glancing elsewhere, bopping his head idly to the K-pop song playing over the radio. No matter how hard Prompto tries to catch his eye, Noctis seems to be doing his best to avoid meeting his glance.

He slips the comic into a paper bag with the store’s logo printed in soy ink on the sides. Once it’s all paid for, he hands it over to Noctis who seems suddenly bashful.

‘Thanks,’ Prompto says. He says that to customers a lot — it’s a reflex by now — but this time, he really means it.

Noctis shrugs, looking every bit the indifferent young heir, but as he slips his shades back on, Prompto sees him smile.

‘No problem,’ Noctis says. He moves to go, but before he gets far he turns back. ‘Oh, you’re on FriendBook, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cool,’ Noctis replies. ‘I’ll send you a request.’

With that, he strides across the store and leaves, clutching his purchase tightly in hand.

* * *

Sure enough, it hadn’t been long before a friend request had popped up in Prompto’s notifications. He had dithered a little over accepting it, not wanting to look desperate by doing it right away. In the end he had put it out of his mind, distracted by his text conversation with Gladiolus, until Gladio had told him to ‘accept that damn friend request already’ because Noctis wouldn’t get off his case.

He’s bundled up on Gladio’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, with a movie paused on the TV; Gladio bustles around the kitchenette, getting snacks ready for them.

When Prompto’s phone vibrates, he knows it’s probably Noctis again. They’ve been trading memes since he left work, and if he didn’t know better he’d think it was a sign that they’re hitting it off.

‘We should all hang out again sometime,’ he says, leaning over the back of the couch to make his voice heard.

‘Who?’

‘Us and Noctis,’ Prompto says. ‘And Ignis.’

Gladiolus returns with his arms full: popcorn, chips and dip, and bags of candy. He makes a second trip to grab soda — with a can of Sylkis Boost for Prompto — and slumps down in his spot on the couch.

‘Sure,’ he says, reaching for the remote for the DVD player. ‘Maybe without the alcohol this time, huh?’

Prompto rests his head against Gladio’s shoulder. A few weeks back he would have balked at the thought of spending time with the prince without alcohol for courage, but after their companionable little meme exchange, he’s starting to feel like he doesn’t need it.

‘Sounds good,’ he says.

Gladiolus sits up suddenly, dislodging Prompto from his shoulder in the process.

‘You said you were gonna show me your assignment.’

‘Right _now_?’ Prompto says with a whine.

Still, he fishes around in his pocket until he finds his phone and goes through the process of logging into the cloud storage where he keeps his photos and coursework for school. Once he’s in the folder for the assignment, he hands it over to Gladiolus.

He watches Gladio swipe through it in silence; Prompto can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as he sees each picture. It’s a series of shots, from different points in their trip — some of them depicting the daily lives of the people they passed by, others showing lonely, dusty roads. The one of Gladio, caught while driving, is in there too.

Gladiolus doesn’t say anything for a while after he hands the phone back, and Prompto feels cold sweat prickle under his arms as his mind immediately jumps to conclusions. He wonders if he still has time to retract the project — to hurry home and scramble something new together. At least he doesn’t have to present his portfolio until the afternoon tomorrow…

‘It’s stupid,’ he blurts, shaking his head hurriedly. ‘I figured I’d show the difference of what community means to different people and sometimes it’s not about where you are but who you’re with and— and it sucks, I’m sorry—’

‘Prompto.’

Gladio lays a hand on his chest, halting him. His expression, one of deep thought moments before, melts into a smile, and once he’s smiling Prompto feels the worry start to ebb away.

‘It’s great,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’m kinda blown away that you included me in it.’

Prompto breaths out a little sigh of relief, and Gladio slips his arm around him and pulls him close, to lean against his chest.

‘I can’t get over how talented you are,’ Gladio murmurs, before burying his face in Prompto’s hair.

* * *

Gladiolus picked out a foreign language film — something with lots of surreal fight scenes and dream sequences. Prompto doesn’t mind reading the subtitles, but before long he has to get up and dig around in his things until he finds his glasses.

‘Noctis told me your wore glasses,’ Gladio says, as Prompto sits back down beside him. ‘I think his words were “freakishly adorable”.’

It’s dark in Gladio’s place; the glow of the screen and the lights shining in from the street give a little illumination to see by, but hopefully not enough to show up the flush of Prompto’s cheeks.

‘He said that?’ Prompto replies.

‘Yup.’

With a groan, Prompto turns and buries his face in Gladio’s chest. Before long, Gladio’s arms slip around him and he feels a kiss press onto the top of his head.

‘He’s not wrong,’ Gladio says, muffled by Prompto’s hair.

In spite of Prompto’s best efforts, he falls asleep long before the movie’s over. One minute he’s closing his eyes for just a second to let them rest, the next Gladio is gently shaking him awake. When he blearily opens his eyes, Gladiolus reaches up and carefully slips his glasses from his face.

‘Bed,’ Gladio says softly. ‘Now. No arguments.’

‘Carry me?’ Prompto murmurs.

He says it as a joke, but then Gladio sweeps him up into his arms, blanket and all, and brings him across the apartment as though he weighs nothing at all. Once they’re through the door, Gladio lays him with meticulous care on the bed and sets the glasses down on the dresser beside him.

‘You coming to bed too?’ Prompto murmurs, up at the dim shape of Gladio’s shadow in the darkened room. It’s a lot easier to sleep in here since Gladio got shades — Prompto’s suggestion.

‘Yeah, in a minute,’ Gladio replies. ‘Lemme clean up first.’

Predictably, Prompto drifts off not long after Gladio leaves. When he wakes up again Gladio is gently pressing a shirt into his arms. It’s one of Gladio’s, and even though Prompto remembered to bring pajamas for once, he’s more than happy to take it.

Physically getting dressed is another matter, of course, and it takes everything he has to drag himself out of bed. His jeans seem glued to him as he pushes them down his thighs and he kicks them off with a petulant sigh. With a chuckle, Gladiolus helps him tug his tank off. Prompto turns to face away and Gladio helps him wriggle out of his binder, setting it on the bed for him.

‘Here,’ Gladio says softly, lifting the borrowed shirt up so that Prompto can slip his arms into it.

Gladio’s fingertips skirt Prompto’s sides as he pulls the shirt down, and that little touch is enough to make Prompto shiver. He can feel his skin erupt in goosebumps, and he knows Gladio can too; feels his fingers trace a lazy pattern across his skin.

Oddly, Prompto isn’t so sleepy any more.

He turns, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. When he steps around to face Gladio he finds him staring right back at him, a look of intent darkening his expression.

Prompto raises himself up onto his tiptoes and touches a kiss to Gladio’s lips, and he feels Gladiolus’s arms slip under his, around his waist, fingers crossing behind his back. Their lips meet again, and again, and Prompto’s suddenly very, very glad for the newly installed-shades to block the view anybody outside might have had.

‘I thought you were tired,’ Gladio says, lips curling wryly. ‘What happened to passing out on the couch, drooling on my arm?’

‘I did _not_ ,’ Prompto protests, but as he pulls back and swats at Gladio’s arm he sees the look in his eyes that says he’s telling the truth.

‘Don’t worry,’ Gladio says, slipping a hand up to comb through Prompto’s hair. ‘You’re cute when you’re sleeping, so I’ll forgive you.’

Prompto wrinkles his nose, and a moment later Gladio touches a kiss to the tip of it. The gesture fills Prompto with warmth, to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he can’t help but sigh as he leans his cheek against Gladio’s chest.

They stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s arms, until Gladiolus tugs back again. He cups Prompto’s chin in his hand and lifts it so they’re looking into each other’s eyes, and something about what Prompto sees there makes him shiver.

‘Hey,’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto licks his lips. Swallows. He’s afraid to move, to blink, in case he disrupts the moment. 

‘Hey,’ he murmurs.

When Gladio leans in and kisses him again, it’s slow and lingering, a hint of tongue. It brings him back to the Leville in Lestallum, when he had been sure — so damn sure — of what would happen next. Nothing in their relationship ever quite seems to go how he expects.

His heart is pounding as he stretches up and delves his fingers through Gladio’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss; when their lips part his breathing is heavy, and he realises Gladio’s is too.

‘How ‘bout we move this _onto_ the bed,’ Prompto suggests, with a little grin.

‘Oh _gods_ , yes,’ Gladio blurts.

Gladio steers him back until Prompto’s legs hit the edge of the mattress, and Prompto pulls away to clamber back onto it. He stretches out in the middle and Gladio crawls up on top, kneeling over him, his fingers plucking gently at the hem of Prompto’s shirt. It’s Gladio’s, so naturally it’s far too big, but lying there in just this and a pair of boxer-briefs, with Gladio looking at him the way he is, Prompto doesn’t think he’s ever felt better about himself.

‘Is—’ Gladio begins, but Prompto cuts him off.

‘If you’re gonna ask if this is okay,’ he says, ‘you _know_ what the answer is.’

Gladio breathes out a sigh that turns halfway into a rueful laugh. His palm settles flat on Prompto’s stomach, his thumb brushing against the band of his underwear.

‘You’re right,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I just want to make sure this is perfect.’

Prompto hears his phone buzz on the nightstand. Probably another meme; he’s more than happy to ignore it.

He reaches up, gripping at Gladio’s shirt, and tugs him gently down. With little encouragement, Gladiolus lowers himself until he’s hovering over him, a hair’s breadth between their lips.

‘Gladio,’ Prompto murmurs, slipping his arms around Gladiolus’s shoulders. ‘I promise, it already is.’


	15. Four Months Later

It’s chilly out; Prompto has a scarf wrapped around his neck, and one of Gladiolus’s shirts hangs loose on him under his jacket. He feels like he wears Gladio’s clothes more than his own sometimes, but Gladio seems to like it and — well, Prompto likes having his scent so close.

The tourism websites had proclaimed Altissia to be the most romantic city in the world, and Prompto doesn’t think he can fault them for such a lofty claim. Maybe it’s the wine they had with their dinner — it’s six months today since their first date, a cause for celebration — or the buskers playing on the streets, or Gladio’s chest pressed against his back, arms crossed over him, but it feels like something out of a movie.

‘You sure you’re not too cold?’ Gladio murmurs, and his breath is warm against Prompto’s ear. ‘We can head back to the hotel whenever you want.’

Prompto knows they have a whole week here, but something about it — the soft glow of the street lights, the moonlight glinting across the water in the canals — makes him reluctant to miss a minute of it. No moment spent with Gladiolus is wasted, but still; why hide away in their hotel room when they can spend the time together, soaking up the sights? 

‘In a little while,’ he says, letting his head sink back against Gladio’s shoulder.

The Moogle Chocobo Carnival will be in town in a few days — it’s part of the reason Gladiolus suggested they go on this trip to begin with — but for now, Prompto’s glad to enjoy the relative peace and quiet of the city before the festivities flood the streets. 

He feels his fingers itch when the clouds expose the moon, letting its silver glow hit the city _just right_. His camera is in their room, locked safely away; he made a promise to himself to actually enjoy this trip, and not just spend the whole time glued to the viewfinder. Still, he can’t help but wish he could capture this shot, to freeze this moment in time — his happiness, his comfort in Gladio’s arms — forever.

‘Let’s get you some cocoa,’ Gladiolus says, kissing his earlobe. ‘Extra marshmallows.’

When he puts it that way, Prompto can’t really protest.

Hot drinks in styrofoam cups in hand, they wander the streets of Altissia, making a lap of the district. It’s good to walk hand-in-hand with Gladio — good to be so open about their affection, and not to spend every minute second guessing whether Gladio really feels the same way that Prompto does about him. It’s a work in progress.

They pass by a gondola, lying idle along the bank of the canal. The gondolier is cheery in spite of the late hour, a big stripey scarf wrapped around him against the cold, and he waves them happily over.

‘Care to see the splendour of the most romantic city in the world, under the stars?’

Maybe Gladiolus sees the little burst of excitement that lights up Prompto’s eyes, because even as he opens his mouth to politely refuse — they should be heading back to the warmth of the hotel, after all — Gladio gently cuts across him.

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘That sounds great.’

Gladio takes Prompto’s hand and helps him onto the gondola, steadying him when the boat wobbles slightly. Once he’s aboard, Gladio climbs on after.

There are blankets there, for passengers to use; they drape them over their laps and huddle close together, holding hands all the while.

‘Lovely night, isn’t it?’ the gondolier says, and once he pushes off from the bank he leaves them in silence.

It’s easy to feel like the night is just for them as they drift through the canal, bathed in moonlight. The cold has already driven many of the tourists and locals indoors, so the waterways are theirs alone. The city takes on a different quality here, from the water; they pass by windows lit up softly, as families go about their lives within, and see hidden courtyards that back onto the canal, strung up with lanterns and baskets of flowers. Nestled close, still sipping their cocoa, the night’s chill hardly seems to touch them.

‘Thank you for this,’ Prompto says, snuggling in against Gladio’s shoulder.

Gladiolus’s hand slips from his, and he drapes an arm around him instead to hug him close.

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ Gladio murmurs. ‘I’m just glad I get to be here with you.’

It’s the perfect thing to say, and Prompto twists to look up at Gladiolus suspiciously. Of the two of them, Prompto has always been better with words — the whole _feelings_ thing.

‘What?’ Gladio protests, looking innocent. ‘It’s true!’

Prompto is more than happy to let the matter drop when Gladio nuzzles his nose and kisses him, and they resume cuddling up close together for warmth.

The ride comes to an end all too soon, the gondola gliding serenely up to the edge of the canal. Once the boat is tied in place, Prompto neatly folds the blanket and sets it aside, and Gladiolus helps him to his feet.

‘Thank you,’ Prompto says, once he’s on dry land.

He roots around in his pocket to scrounge up some gil by way of a tip, but the gondolier merely shakes his head.

‘My pleasure.’

The boat ride lulled Prompto; he finds himself yawning along the walk back to the hotel, and all he can think of his sinking into the sheets in their warm room with the thermostat turned up until he’s toasty.

Still, they make it to the Leville somehow, and Prompto even manages to drag himself all the way upstairs — with a little help from Gladio.

‘Remind me to get you some energy drinks in the morning,’ Gladio says, once they’re through the door. Gently, he steers Prompto toward the bed and helps him shrug off his layers.

‘Nah,’ Prompto says blearily. ‘This is _nice_ sleepy.’

He hears Gladiolus chuckle by his ear; feels strong arms wrap around him, holding him close.

‘More like _delirious_ ,’ Gladio teases.

Earlier, Prompto had planned on making overtures when they returned to their hotel room — on making the most of the fancy bed and the mood lighting. Now, all he can think of is sinking face-first into the fluffy pillows, breathing in the soft scent of lavender on the sheets.

Once he’s undressed and safely burrowed within the covers, Gladiolus isn’t far behind. He turns off the lights and crosses to the bed, and when he slips in beside Prompto his skin is cold to the touch but it soon warms up.

‘Prom?’

Prompto’s drifting; he feels Gladio’s hand rest on his hip, and he does his best to look up but he can hardly muster the energy to open his eyes, let alone lift his head.

‘Mhm?’ he says, blearily.

Gladiolus is silent for a bit, then he kisses Prompto’s forehead and gives his hip a squeeze.

‘Nothing. Go back to sleep.’

* * *

Prompto knows Gladiolus must be glad that they’ve spent as much time together as they can, making the most of the scenic city before the arrival of the festival, because once the Moogle Chocobo Carnival arrives, all bets are off.

Prompto doesn’t even know where to begin — the chocobo races, the moogle scavenger hunt, the baby chocobo chicklings. It’s a flurry of colour and noise, and it’s so infectious he feels like he’s guzzled three cans of Sylkis Boost already.

‘How about we take a look around,’ Gladiolus suggests on the first morning of the carnival. ‘Then you can decide what you want to do first.’

Prompto is bursting with excitement as they take in the attractions, and although he does his best to make a mental list of the things he wants to do, he keeps finding things that bumping everything else down the list. By the end of their circuit of the district, he’s no closer to deciding.

‘Look,’ Gladiolus says, pointing to a cardboard cutout of a chocobo and a moogle. ‘How ‘bout that?’

Prompto hands his camera over to the attendant and she waits with a cheery grin while they line up behind the cutout, squeezing their faces through the holes.

‘Say cheese!’ she exclaims, and snaps off the shot.

When Prompto looks at the picture, it’s perfect. His head is there in place of the chocobo’s and Gladio’s in place of the moogles, and they both look so earnestly happy with their matching grins as they smile for the camera. He almost expects Gladiolus to tell him to delete it, but instead he gives a full-bellied laugh and throws an arm around him.

They take part in the scavenger hunt next, seeking out moogle figures scattered across the city based on clues. It turns out Gladiolus is surprisingly good at it, and by lunchtime they’ve already scouted out three.

‘Let’s grab a bite,’ Gladio says. ‘Can’t hunt moogles on an empty stomach.’

There’s a seasonal café in place at a plaza, serving moogle and chocobo themed foods. Prompto orders a kupoberry cheesecake and shovels a little into Gladio’s mouth, kissing him when a crumb winds up on his lip.

It has the quality of a dream — like everything is too fun, too magical, to be real. Prompto keeps reaching for Gladio’s hand when they set off walking once more, to ground himself; when Gladiolus grabs on, he squeezes tightly as if to reassure him.

They take another gondola ride, this time over to the next district. This one is high up, so it affords them a view of the whole city, and Prompto hangs over the edge of the boat and watches as colourful balloons drift by in the air.

While he’s leaning there, letting his hand trail through the water, he feels Gladiolus’s beard bristles tickle his neck as he kisses it. The touch makes Prompto giggle and he sits up to protest, but Gladio is looking at him so seriously that it knocks the breath right out of his lungs.

‘What is it?’ he just about manages to say.

Gladiolus lifts his hand and cups his cheek — Prompto’s glad that the gondolier is busy steering his way along the canal, because it’s such an intimate moment to have a stranger witness. 

‘I love you,’ Gladiolus says.

It’s there again — the air-gone-from-his-lungs feeling. Prompto can do little more than kneel and gape at Gladio, eyes wide.

He thinks about how he’s wanted so many times to say those words, about all the scenarios he came up with in his head. He thinks about their first night _together_ and how he had wanted to say it then, but it had been so perfect that he hadn’t wanted to ruin it by moving too fast. 

It dawns on him a little late that Gladio’s probably waiting for a response, so he covers Gladio’s hand with his own and lets a smile spread across his face, even as he feels tears of happiness prick at his eyes.

‘I love you too,’ he says.

Gladiolus kisses him, and kisses him, and they’re still wrapped in an embrace when the gondola pulls up at the next stop. Nobody seems to notice, thankfully — everyone is so caught up in the festivities and the romance of the city that they spare them little heed — but still Prompto feels his cheeks flush as Gladiolus helps pull him to his feet.

He thinks maybe the gondolier winks as they leave, but that might be his imagination.

* * *

‘Yeah, I will. I said _I will._ Iris, put Dad back on the line.’

Gladio sighs, but he’s smiling as he exchanges a glance with Prompto before turning away again, his attention on the phone call once more.

It’s just work stuff, Prompto knows — but it’s a reminder that when their trip ends, it’s back to normality for the both of them. He’s already missing out on a lot of class by taking a week away, so he knows he has that to look forward to when he gets home; it’s not something he wants to think about.

Gladiolus is a little more serious, a little more stern, when he hangs up after dealing with his father. Prompto knows that they have a good relationship — great, even — but as shields of the king and future king respectively, there are times when it’s about duty above all else.

‘How… is everything?’ Prompto asks, as Gladio falls into step beside him.

‘Fine. Had a lot to say again about me taking _a whole week_ of vacation. Iris says hi.’

Prompto shakes his head ruefully. It’s about what he expected.

‘We’re still doing dinner next weekend, right?’ he says. He slips his arm through Gladio’s as they walk. ‘I’m excited to meet your family.’

Gladio nods, and when he seems a little distant Prompto doesn’t hold it against him; it’s nothing personal.

They’re heading on Sunday morning; for now it’s Friday afternoon and they still have a little time left of their trip. It’s hard to believe that they’ve been together six whole months — Prompto’s already looking forward to the next six.

‘Forget about work,’ he says, tugging at Gladio’s hand to halt him. He moves around in front and stretches up on tiptoe, kissing Gladio’s cheek. ‘You’re all mine for just a little while longer.’

Something like guilt flickers across Gladio’s face. It clears up within an instant, though, and he slips his hand through Prompto to pull him along once more.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘This week is about _us_.’

They’ve seen pretty much everything the carnival has to offer, and Prompto feels like he knows the paved streets and narrow bridges spanning the canal better than he does some parts of Insomnia. It’s welcoming here, for all that the lustre can be intimidating at first glance. He’d spend every vacation with Gladio here if he could, if it only meant that could be alone together — truly alone, without the distractions of daily life.

He feels like the upcoming meal with the Amicitias is hanging over him, a reminder of a big milestone they’ll have to pass to continue their relationship. He _is_ excited, but he’s a little nervous, too.

‘D’you think they’ll like me?’ he asks meekly.

Gladio glances over his shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow.

‘Who?’

Prompto sighs. He doesn’t want to have to spell it out — he feels awkward enough worrying about it as it is, without having to explain _why_.

‘Your family.’

Gladiolus’s shrug is nonchalant, like it couldn’t possibly ever be a big deal. Of course he wouldn’t be worried; if Prompto’s parents ever happen to be in the same room long enough to sit down to dinner with them, he knows that bills and work will be all they talk about.

‘Iris is gonna love you,’ Gladio says, with another shrug. ‘She already _does_. You make her big bro happy.’

There he is, saying exactly the right thing again. Prompto’s impressed.

‘What about your dad?’ he says, unconsciously bringing his hand up to gnaw at his nails. He stops himself when he realises, and slips it into his pocket instead.

‘Prompto.’

They’re stopping again; this time it’s Gladiolus pulling them to a halt. They’re in the way of everybody, so he glances around and leads Prompto off to the side, down a narrow walkway alongside the canal.

‘You’re worrying too much,’ he says. ‘I promise. You already impressed Noct. That’s the hard part.’

Prompto could say that it didn’t _feel_ like the hard part since the prince went to such pains to get to know him, but then he thinks of all the times Gladio had to convince him that Noct wasn’t just being nice — that Noct actually liked him.

All he can do when it comes to Gladio’s dad is to be himself, and hope that that’s enough.

Gladiolus is watching him, keenly; he tilts his head to the side like he’s about to say that he knows what Prompto’s thinking. Six months together and it feels like they know each other inside-out.

‘My family is gonna love you,’ Gladio says, leaning down to look Prompto in the eye, ‘because _I_ love you. Trust me.’

When Prompto nods, Gladiolus touches a kiss to his lips and it’s enough to chase the worries away, for now. He slips his arms around Gladio’s neck like they’re not in a quiet side-path in one of the busiest cities in the world, like there aren’t tourists taking photos on a bridge overhead.

‘I’m so happy,’ Prompto says, when they part. He can feel himself welling up again, and when a tear spills over onto his cheek, Gladio wipes it carefully away. ‘I love you so much.’

Gladiolus doesn’t kiss him this time, pulling him into a bear hug instead. Prompto is safe and content and warm against his boyfriend’s chest, and maybe the tourists _are_ watching, but whatever — let them.

There’s nothing that could ever possibly ruin this moment, not with Gladio holding him in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it!
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you to everybody who has followed since the beginning, and to the newcomers who popped in along the way. I've been floored by how consistently wonderful and supportive everybody is with leaving feedback, sharing and reccing the heck out of this little old fic.
> 
>  _Moogle Match_ is done, but there's still more to be told of Prompto and Gladio's story. 
> 
> As always, I'm on tumblr [here](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) and [here](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com), and on [twitter](twitter.com/orchardofbones).


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